


Rap With Me

by Saudadetea



Category: iKON (Korea Band)
Genre: A LOT of Angst, AU, Aggression, Band Fic, Bottom Bobby, But some fluff too, Cliffhangers, Fluff, I'll add more tags as i go, Kinda, M/M, Roughness, Sexual Tension, Sexual innuendos, Smut, kink mentions - but nothing crazy, minho is here as a friend, there's also A LOT of cursing cause rappers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2018-12-25 09:51:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 80,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12033426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saudadetea/pseuds/Saudadetea
Summary: Hanbin is the leader of 6 membered group called iKON while Bobby is an underground rapper who always disses him. Turns out he’s just doing that to get his attention.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from doubleb-fics on tumblr [ [x](http://doubleb-fics.tumblr.com/post/155679196932/prompt-0004) ]

The flash of lights are like the bright explosions of stars. A blinding white that covers everything and then just as quickly recedes while blotches of colors linger in the vision like black and blue marks.  
  
The six boys sit behind the press table, their faces impressive and charmed with practiced ease and perfected smiles. Even their name cards sit in a perfect line in front of them. A humorous touch, another detail to fit their idol status.  
  
"B.I," a suited reporter calls out, braver than the rest. "Are the rumors true?"  
  
The room draws a breath and even the camera shutters hold one in.  
  
"Yes," the boy says. And just like that the room erupts. The air is fought over with greedy gasps and vigorous onsets of questions and names.  
  
"B.I!"  
  
"How many members are you looking to add to iKon?"  
  
"B.I! How do you feel about it?"  
  
"Will this affect ikon’s current promotions?"  
  
"Have you decided on anyone yet?"  
  
"B.I! Do you think this will affect group dynamics?"  
  
The boy, a 22 year old, with the weight of the world on his shoulders holds up his hand and the flashes increase. The shouting, however. simmers to a buzz.  
  
"The decision was mine." He allows the surprise of that truth to settle before continuing. "The original concept for iKon consisted of having seven members and two rappers."  
  
"Why now?" The single question comes from a reporter in the corner. She had gotten her voice out while the others were still gathering breath to feed theirs. She's young and fresh and looks both proud at herself and stunned at how loud it carried in the low hum of the room.  
  
She gathers herself and presses on, "you've had two highly successful comebacks and are amidst promotions for your most recent one. Some would say that bringing in a new member would be too much of change. Can you explain _why_ it is that you're risking this addition when you are already doing so well with just the six of you?"  
  
All the eyes turn to her. The members have been staring impassively, handsome and well groomed but bored. Their interest in the girl however comes with a bit of mirth as it seems the tone she sets is serious and confronting.  
  
B.I glances toward her and quirks a smile. A small, charmed, thing that sets off a new round of flashes and makes his casualness on the matter something to reckon with.  
  
"It _is_ a risk," he admits softly. "A risk that I am willing to take for the continued growth of this group. We have a new concept in mind for the next album and it requires this change."  
  
He turns back to the other reporters.  
  
"We will continue with the current promotions as planned and will release information on the new member when the time comes."  
  
"Can you say anything else?" The girl calls out over the rising noise. "A message for your fans, perhaps?"  
  
B.I takes a breath and it feels as though the whole room shudders to give it to him.  
  
"With all that we've been through to get here, a member addition is the least troubling matter. Our fans are more resilient than to let this," he pauses for word choice. "Improvement, be anything less than cause for excitement. Of course it is up to our fans to stay with us or not. But –"  
  
He looks down at his lap and grins a little too truly and honestly. The cameras scream out their admiration in more dizzying flashes and shutters.  
  
"Suggestions for the new member have actually been brought to us _by_ fans. One in particular is holding their interest. And ours."  
  
He blinks and his stare is back on the room before him. His tone sharpens.  
  
"It is not my intention to fail these men beside me. They are my friends and my teammates. It is more than music to us. This is our life."  
  
"Can you us give any names?"  
  
"When will you announce the new member?"  
  
"Have you approached anyone?"  
  
The questions keep coming until the young leader once again holds up a hand and the room quiets.  
  
"No, but he'll know—" The video freezes, cutting the response short.  
  
A buffering wheel spins and behind that the dark eyes of the boy stare straight out through the screen.  
  
"What a self centered prick," Bobby hisses.  
  
"What's this? Sourcing new material?"  
  
Bobby snaps his head to the voice but it's just Minho standing behind him with a cocky _caught you_ grin. Bobby smiles with a lack of humor at his friend and slips his phone back into his pocket  
  
"Shouldn't you be getting a spot in the crowd?" Bobby says it more aggressively than he should to someone who is older than him. But Minho just shrugs it off without so much as a raise of hand or click of the tongue.  
  
"What I should be doing is working on my art projects." The male shrugs, "but you don't see me getting my undies in a twist about it."  
  
Minho is an art major at Korea National University. Something he reminds Bobby of **_all_** of the time. Even though the boy still follows him out to shows just like they did when they were in high school together.  
  
Bobby raps. Minho records it and posts it online. That was the foundation of their acquaintanceship. The friendship and teasing jibes came later.  
  
University was never in the cards for Bobby. Regardless of how many hints and obvious course pamphlets Minho dropped on him, Bobby just wasn't having it.

 _"Man, what will I learn in some stuffy classroom that I can't learn out here on the streets?"_  
  
_"I knew how to draw before I got in!" Minho would counter, "now I draw_ **_better_** _. Their music program is respected."_  
  
_Bobby makes a face and shakes his head._  
  
_"Naw, those professors, they can't teach you how to hustle. They just want you to write pretty words on paper and sell out to companies."_  
  
_"It'd make your family proud."_  
  
_Bobby rolls his lips together between his teeth. Minho always went for the heavy blows even in physical confrontations and this was always their stalemate._  
  
_"Part time jobs and gigs will not be enough. Think of the future," Minho looks pleading but Bobby just makes a low tsking sound in his throat._  
  
_"Right now is all I have," Bobby throws his arms wide and laughs incredulously. "I'm at the top. The underground is my turf and I worked my ass off for it. Part time jobs and gigs are all I need."_  
  
_Minho shakes his head._  
  
_"You'll get bored Bobby. You always do," he gives him a pitying look and Bobby's jaw tightens. "This play ground is too small for you and you'll need something bigger and better with harder foes to conquer."_  
  
_"And you think that pretty piece of paper will change that."_  
  
_"And I think that pretty piece of paper will open more doors," Minho confirms._  
  
Bobby will never see the worth for putting in all the hassle and money for such a thing. But Minho is right on one thing.  
  
The underground is getting to be too small.  
  
Bobby has gone up against them all and there's respect laid at his feet for it. The other rappers he concerned himself with were good and offered some challenge, but they weren't better. There was no one _better_ than him.  
  
Except one. But he was out of reach and far from the world Bobby strives in. Their paths would never cross.  
  
"Who do you think it'll be?" Minho asks.  
  
"For what?" Bobby blinks and leans against the wall.  
  
Minho cocks a brow, "ikon's new member?"  
  
Bobby snorts, "I couldn't care less."  
  
"Really? You're not curious at all? It could be a rapper from the underground."  
  
A heavy bass note shakes the wall. On the other side was the stage and the warmup acts were underway.  
  
The crowd's roar follows and Bobby can gauge it's an audience of 200 easily.

"It's gonna be whatever new boy toy that company wants to fuck around with." Bobby says dismissively.  
  
Minho whistles lowly, "is that what you think B.I is? A fuck boy?"  
  
Bobby grimances. He didn't.  
  
"He's just a face," Bobby says a bit scornfully. A talented face good for catchy hooks and filling the pockets of worthless scumbag CEOs.  
  
Minho gives him a skeptical look like he smelled bullshit, but Bobby doesn't say anything more and Minho at last sighs.

It's quiet for a few seconds and Bobby can see Minho working himself up to say something else.

"What is it? Just spit it out." He crosses his arms thinking it'll be another speech about school.

"It's just," Minho rubs at the back of his head where his hair is buzzed short. "I know you don't like reading the comments to your videos but–"

Bobby stares at him, he knows a run around when he sees one. Minho was avoiding something. But it was true Bobby tended to avoid reading comments on his own videos. Purely in order to keep a level head. He gauged his self worth off of the crowd at his feet not a basement dwelling troll that won't ever share the same air as him.

"His fans _like_ you," Minho continues. He gives a tentative look towards Bobby.

Bobby chuckles but the sound of it is dry and raw, "real recognize real."

At that Minho snorts, "don't be so proud they're only there because you keep attacking their idol."  
  
"I attack everyone. He isn't special." Bobby looks to the floor. He wouldn't admit it but of course Minho does it for him.

"No," Minho states. "You _diss_ everyone. But you attack him as you would a competitor. You want him to respond."

And there it was. The truth of the matter laid out before him.

"You think–"

"Yes." Minho says it before Bobby even formulates the question.

 **_"Suggestions for the new member have actually been brought to us by fans. One in particular is holding their interest. And ours."_ ** **_  
  
_** Was that him?

Bobby pushes himself off the wall and stands squarely in front of Minho. His heart is thrumming and he doesn't exactly know why.

"What are they saying?"

Minho smirks, "that B.I would eat you raw. And that you're a cocky, volatile, rapper with no finesse."

"That's an odd way of saying you like someone."

"But," Minho amends. "That you're worth the attention. I think they –"  
  
"Bobby," a stage hand appears at the end of the hallway peering at them from behind the stage door. The commotion from within follows her out in heavy synthesized beats and crowd cheers. "You're on in ten."  
  
The door closes and the night's excitement descends back to its muffled state.  
  
"You think they what?" Bobby asks looking to have Minho finish the thought.  
  
Minho opens his mouth only to close it again. When he doesn't say anything else Bobby shrugs and moves forward.  
  
Minho turns his back to the wall and in a whisper while Bobby passes he says, "I don't think you're the only one looking to change the playing field."  
  
Bobby spares him a glance but keeps walking. He opens the door and the sound once again deafens the space. It punches into his body with force enough to hurt. He smiles.  
  
"Good luck getting a spot," he looks back at Minho. "It sounds like a full house."  
  
And then he's gone.

 

 

 

The floor beneath his feet pulsates. The music is pounding through everything like a second heartbeat.  
  
Even metal of the stage stairs rattle with low pitchy tings while the walls boom like splitting ice with the reverberations. If he didn't know better he'd think the building would collapse like a death trap.  
  
It won't though. This wasn't even the max volume. That setting was reserved for him.  
  
Bobby readjusts his ear piece and grips the mic in his hand.  
  
It's just like any other weekend he tells himself. But he feels stronger somehow. Like he's been holding back on something and it had finally burst from the pressure.  
  
His conversation with Minho must have triggered him more than he thought. He feels like he has to prove something. But what or to who he doesn't know. It makes him jumpy with excess energy and his in his throat, a raging fire of words burns up to the tip of his tongue waiting to spread.  
  
His body is already in tune to auto pilot. He wasn't even nervous. He knew what to do and how to do it.  
  
It's that his mind kept straying in circles whenever he tried to collect his focus. Returning to the same surprise.  
  
Because _who_ in their right mind does something so outlandish as to add a new member to a multiple chart topping group. And then to sit there so preen and cocky and laugh at the concerns. What the fuck kind of drugs was that company giving out.  
  
Bobby bounces in time to the current song. Reminding himself that it hardly matters anyway. He had no interest in being a play puppet for YG ent.'s enjoyment.  
  
Bobby worked for himself and no one else.  
  
The stage lights go out and Bobby looks up just as the previous rapper hops down the stairs in front of him.  
  
Two stage hands are there beside them with lowlights and in the dim Bobby catches the hand held up for him in greeting. The rappers clasp together. The one is sweating buckets and Bobby can feel the licks of heat on his skin as they bump shoulders.  
  
"The energy out there is fucking crazy," the rapper speaks gruffly. "They're so amped up you'll probably blow their heads off with the first line."  
  
Bobby makes an accenting noise in reply and once the other rapper leaves, he wipes his hand off on his shirt.  
  
He shakes himself out for the last time and jumps the stairs two at a time.

 

 

 

The stage is still dark when he gets it under his feet. It's surrounded in a veil of black broken only by red emergency exit lights and phone screens.  
  
In this setting he feels all at once intimate and equally lost in infinity. Yet he feels the gravity of that stage call to him like a lover.  
  
If anything were to fail him tonight or some other night, it would not be the sturdy and beaten stage. No matter what bar or club or theater it resides in, the stage would never lie and would never leave him.  
  
Everything else could come and go but this connection between the floor and the soles of his feet went right to his core.  
  
This was his home.  
  
He takes a breath and waits for his version of perfect silence to fall.  
  
It's a moment that's impossible to miss. That precipice when everything is low hums and whispered angst.  
  
When it comes he like to flick the tip of his mic, like so, just to offset it.  
  
A strong thud echoes in the space. The murmuring rises and the air goes dead like it's been sucked dry.  
  
Bobby clears his throat as a call to arms and the lights flood out to the dark corners.  
  
Sepia gold spotlights dance in circles over the faces of the crowd. While his own back and shoulders get halos of blue.  
  
He steps to edge where the small white LEDs shine the brightest and catches his grin in their light. The definition of his jaw outlines itself.  
  
The screams of the girls in the crowd out match the guys and adds to the overall frenzy.  
  
He laughs, crackled and low.  
  
"Did I make you wait, baby?" He says this to the girls in the front.  
  
"Sorry," he says a bit snidely. "But you know I love coming last." For this one he winks at the group of boys behind them.  
  
He moves back just as the room releases the quick intake of breath in a shudder. And then the music slices cleanly out from the speakers and Bobby is right on top of it.  
  
He howls between his lines. All that energy exudes from him like an oil spill and catches ablaze from the sparks that flitter out around the burning words that pour out from his throat.  
  
Spreading and billowing until the whole room is engulfed in the very essence of him.  
  
Already his skin gleams with sweat. The veins in his neck bulge and he tilts his head further back for the sole benefit of showing off that passion.  
  
"See this power? See this strength? I'm not to be confused with those other kids." His voice is all rasps and growls and ear fucking.  
  
And his smile.  
  
It's fucking viper venom, striking quick and stopping the heart in a deadly clinch.  
  
It's untiring and surpasses the first song, and the second and the third. When the music cuts to silence between them Bobby draws in his breath to the buzzing sound of fans still high on him and bouncing enough to challenge the sub woofers.  
  
He spots Minho in the crowd. A quink wink for the camera and then Bobby proceeds to melt onto his knees. Getting low enough that when he lifts his shirt and rolls his honeyed abs that they're right there in reach for the fans to touch.  
  
They surge towards him but he jumps back up and darts across the stage. The space is small and yet he bounds across it with leaps fit for something with 50 extra feet.  

 

 

 

Eventually, the halfway mark embraces him. It's comforting arms begging him back for a rest but he lingers there as the lights on him dim.  
  
He drinks in his breath through parted lips, exaggerating the rise and fall of his chest as his lungs fill.  
  
The fans hold their hands out. Even those who were nowhere near the stage. They want him.  
  
Cameras flash and they scream his name as his stare passes over their faces.  
  
He feels every inch inhuman. Indestructible, powerful, and burning hot like molten iron core.  
  
At the last possible second of stage light, right when the darkness hides him completely he spots the shadows of two large men standing in the back corner where the red light silhouettes the edges of the crowd.  
  
They stand stoic amidst the chaos before them. And there between them, casually leaning against the wall is a figure shape made entirely out of an oversized pullover with its hood up and a snapback sitting on top.  
  
Something in Bobby's gut twists. The sweat on him suddenly feels cold and clammy. A weight sets in him. He can't move away, he can't even avert his eyes.  
  
There's no face that's visible in the shadow, but Bobby knows.

  
  
He just _knows_ it’s _him_.

  
  
It's **B.I.**

 

He’s **here.**

 

 

**~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooo. Haaa yes well many thanks to [Aby](http://shimco.tumblr.com/) for helping me set the fire on this one because only I know just how long I sat around on my ass for this. 
> 
> Not so sure of the chapter count just yet but I hope you stick it out with me. I won't do any spoilers just yet, but I can say that this will be quite long (longer than my norm) and it's sure to be heavy in dialogue, angst, and tension. I'll try to update the tags as I go so please be sure to check them. 
> 
>  
> 
> So please do let me know how you're liking it ~ all the motivation helps.
> 
> Feel free to shout at me on [tumblr](http://coquettish-rap.tumblr.com/) too


	2. Chapter 2

_It's him._  
  
Bobby wants to call out his name but his throat won't work.  
  
_It's B.I._  
  
He’s vaguely aware that the crowd is chanting what is very likely be his _own_ name, but he doesn't make sense of it. Everything sounds far off, muffled.  
  
_He's here._  
  
All his focus has funneled down to that figure in the red light.  
  
_He came._  
  
Some part of Bobby is proud. B.I came for him, he risked the public eye to see _him._  
  
He said he didn't care. But this was way better than just being chosen. He felt noticed, acknowledged.  
  
He had B.I's attention and if that was a tangible thing he'd lock it up in a safe for his own selfishness. This was his. No one else's.  
  
The figure moves just then, picking himself off the wall. The two large silhouettes standing before him move as well.  
  
Then the exit door is opening, and maybe Bobby imagines it, but he swears he can hear the snap of the latch and squeak of the rubber seal like the warning click of a landmine.  
  
Bobby runs.  
  
The adrenaline has him taking the stairs of the stage with one solid leap. He lands flat on his feet, the pain of it acts like a gunshot to his system. He just keeps going.  
  
He avoids stagehands and staff members and bursts out through the back doors. It’s all gravel and forgotten trash. He nearly skids into the dumpster before he finds his footing to round the corner.

He can see the van. In his mind the distance stretches out, it’s too far away.  
  
He hears the idling sound of its engine and the slap of his feet on the pavement. And when the slam of the car door comes it bounces off the alleyway walls like a child's play toy.  
  
So close to him and yet Bobby can't catch it in time.  
  
But he keeps running. Even when the engine growls and the tires crunch and spin on the gravel.  
  
His ears are ringing. The thoughts inside his head are screaming profusely like wailing sirens.

 _He's_ **_leaving._ **  
  
Bobby finally gets to the spot where the van just was and runs straight through the cloud of exhaust. The taste chokes him, he coughs and trips out into the street with his eyes burning.

The van is already a solidarity shape getting further and further away from him.  

 _B.I was_ **_here_ ** _and now he's_ **_gone_** _._  
  
The street lights and storefronts reflect off the van’s glossy paint in a wriggle of colors. And then it's too far away to be anything but another nondescript object in the night.  
  
_He's gone._  
  
Bobby holds a hand to his face. Desperation? Shame? Disappointment? Something is bubbling up inside of him and he hates it.  
  
_He's really gone._  
  
Bobby kicks at the ground. The sole of his boot scoffs up tiny stones across the pavement.  
  
He turns back to the alley and punches a street sign as he goes just hear the shrill of its shaking reverberations. He curses loudly to match its whine.

 

  
Back at the door he finds the concerned staff members. At the sight of him they open the door wider while their radios buzz with the static of relayed messages of his return.  
  
One eyes him wearily, "you okay?"  
  
_"Peachy_ ," he spits back and realizes then that he's still holding the mic.  
  
He stares at it for a minute.  
  
Whatever he was feeling now was curable. He already had the heat of words fluttering up his throat. His mind put them into rhyme and order.  
  
He had a remedy to emotions. A translation that when given song he'd understand.  
  
"Let's finish the show," he says already walking past them to return to the stage.

 

* * *

* * *

 

"It was him," Bobby paces the dorm floor but the room is so small and cramped with stuff that it feels more like he's just turning in a very tight circle.

"Yes, as you said a hundred times last night," Minho says and Bobby picks up on the note of exasperation in his tone.

Bobby ignores him. He's been hoping that the more he said it the easier it would be to believe it. But no matter how he admitted it it still felt like a dream.

"He was there," Bobby continues. “He was there to see me."

“If you were just coming here to pout about him, you could have at least brought your starving artist friend food."

At this Bobby stops his restless spinning to frown at him.

Minho sits crossed legged on the bed working diligently on something in his drawing pad. Scattered across his sheets is a mess of used black tissues and art supplies.

He must notice the attention because he looks up from the work in his lap. He has charcoal smudges across his cheeks from his blackened fingers and a tiny hair tie holding up his bangs.

"I know it was him," Bobby says finally.

“I believe you," Minho deadpans. “But I can't believe we're repeating this conversation."

Bobby starts making a low whining sound.

Yes, they had talked about it last night after the gig. Bobby could still recall Minho’s look of concern when he found Bobby in a craze. And then the dawning that had his eyes widening and looking in the shadows, somewhat expecting that B.I could possibly be there. He wasn’t, and when Bobby explained that, Minho’s rational thinking took over. A trait that he was always better with, so the initial shock wore off quickly with him.

Bobby on the other hand tended to silently brew his thoughts until he resolved them.

There was this moment, when Bobby saw B.I that brought on all his bitter disappointment in the idol rapper, but also a sweet stickiness of pride for being the _one_.

Minho had guessed B.I would want him and this was the confirmation.

Then B.I left. No words. No contact. Just _left_. And Bobby felt a tug at his chest so violently he thought himself shot.

What would he have even said if B.I had stayed?

He knows what he would have done. He’d have laughed at B.I’s proposal first. Then he would have spoken through clenched teeth a filthy and informal _“no"_. Possibly a _fuck you_ for garnish.

And then it would have been _him,_ **Bobby** , who would have _left_.

But, since that was not the case, Bobby felt as though something was stolen from him. Stolen and yet bartered for in return for a different prize.

 **“** **_Stop!_ ** **”** Minho finally says over Bobby’s whining siren and then more quietly, “my fucking ears, man.”

Minho looks down at his drawing pad with disappointment and flips the page but concedes to Bobby’s pressuring. He doesn’t look back up as he talks.

"Why didn't you just call him out?"

_Because he's mine._

Bobby has to bite his tongue to hold that in.

"Come on," he laughs uneasily. "And have the crowd trample your precious fingers in their haste to get to him?"

Minho smiles like he knows it's bullshit but laughs anyway.

"I thank you for the consideration, yet I somehow think you’d be at my hospital bed side while they’re putting me in a body cast and ask if I’ve had the chance to upload your videos.”

“Hyung,” Bobby tries with a laugh. He toes a box on the floor, the content inside it rattles and Minho shoots him a glare that says _leave it_. So he does. And then a little softer he voices, "I want to know why he just left."

Bobby holds a breath as Minho releases his.

"Maybe he was only there to scope you out?" Minho reasons. “A first look or something.”

"The youtube videos would have been the scoping." Bobby crosses his arms. "What else would he need? Him and the fans were captivated by those already."

"I don't think those were the words he–"

"You would think he'd get one of his henchmen to kidnap me at the end of the show and take me to that YG dungeon. Not _leave_ in the middle before the night was done."

Minho squints at him, "since when is YG the mafia?" But he quickly shakes his head.

"Look, Bobby." He begins, "chill the fuck out for a second will ya. For someone who said you _didn't_ care, you're awfully worked up."

"It just annoys me!" Bobby shouts it so loudly.

The room goes into a deafening silence and Bobby feels the pressure of it in his ears. But all Minho does is stare at him and it makes him all the more smaller.

"You didn't care before because you thought you were too good for him." Minho says levelly. "But now, because he left you're starting to think that maybe you weren't good _enough."_

Of course he had a few what ifs like that tumbling through his thoughts. _What if he expected more, what if he didn't like what he saw, what if he changed his mind?_

Bobby just shakes his head in disagreement. He wasn't going to give in to self doubt.

Every time he picked up the mic he was defending a title of **_best_**. He deserved what he has because he worked hard for it. And that passion was an explosive thing. There was no way that B.I left unscathed from force of it.

“That could be true.” Minho says and Bobby just smiles without humor. “You’re good, yes. But you’re like some wild dog. It’d be easier to just go adopt a puppy and train it to be what you’d want and need.”

“B.I would want quality above all else.” Bobby snaps. “He’d want the best, because he is–”

Bobby cuts himself off.

“He is, what?” Minho asks after it’s clear Bobby won’t say anymore.

Bobby decides it’s time to start pacing again.

Because B.I is Bobby’s _equal_. The word is like vinegar to him. Sour and foul. And yet, Bobby couldn’t deny the discography currently under B.I’s belt. It wasn’t expansive but B.I’s wordplay and beat precision...

Bobby admired that as much as he wanted to crush it right under the heel of his timberlands.  

“Nothing.” Bobby hisses. “B.I is nothing but a company slave.”

Minho hums, “always speaking like you know him.”

Bobby makes another pivot.

“Well, wouldn’t you?” He asks. “If you were him. Wouldn’t you want the best because that’s what you’re used to getting?”

“Yes,” Minho looks at him. “Yes, of course who wouldn’t? But he’s an _idol_. He lives by different rules. He couldn’t just stick a bow on you and have his henchmen carry you off like a present.”

“Eyy,” Bobby shakes his head again. “But I’d still think he would have done something more than stare.”

“Well,” Minho shrugs a bit, his eyes bouncing up to the ceiling in search of words. "Maybe just by letting **you** _see_ him was communication enough.”

Bobby stops moving to hear this.

“Think about it.” Minho says. “You saw him. And what does that tell you?”

“He wants me.” Bobby supplies.

Minho rolls his eyes, “yes, well, that he’s at least _interested_.”

Minho is using that voice you’d hear from parents when they’re teaching kids something obvious and hoping they’d figure it out themselves.

Bobby scrunches his nose a bit, he wasn’t figuring it out.

“So..?”

“ _So_ ,” Minho saves him. “The first step was developing his interest by watching your videos. The second would be to show his interest. Let you know that he has his eye on you, right?”

Bobby nods. He realizes then that him and Minho are the only ones that know about this aside from B.I’s circle of people. He had overtaken the press in this knowledge.

It’s another thing he decides is valuable enough to shove into the safe. It sorta felt like trust.

"But then again," Minho backs up. "You do look uglier in person than you do in video.”

Bobby catches the jest.

"Please," Bobby chides with a smile. "As if B.I is such a looker himself. At least I have physical features they'd insure.

Bobby rubs a hand over his jaw, "touch this and they'll sue you for the same price of your tuition."

Minho chuckles lowly, "they'd certainly would want to lick it clean after you eat."

"Oh, only a few were allowed _that_ privilege,” Bobby grins with a wink.

"Will B.I be one of the _few_?"

Bobby laughs, “I’d have him on his knees first don’t you think?”

“I don’t know,” Minho turns to another new page in his pad. “From my perspective it looks like you’re already bending over and stretched.”

“Now,” Minho talks again before Bobby can get out a reply. “Stay still so I can practice poses.”

“Fuck you,” Bobby growls and flips him the finger.

“Classy,” Minho says as he starts sketching. “My professor will love the flamboyancy in this one.”

Bobby adds a second middle finger to his pose.

 

 

Bobby had two more stages that weekend but as far as he could tell, B.I hadn't shown up to either one.  
  
Bobby knows it bothers him. Whenever he caught himself thinking about B.I his thoughts would suddenly slam into each other in their attempt to stop. From the wreckage more confusing ones crawled out.  
  
And to make things worse, he had a perfect copy of Minho's questioning voice in his head that just added to his general frustration over things.  
  
**_Why do you care if he's here or not?_** _I don't care._

 **_You're looking for him though._ ** _I want to talk to him._

 ** _About what?_**  
  
Bobby struggles for the words to answer. Whatever he thinks of quickly morphs into something else, something less readable. But he thinks it all funnels down to him thinking that perhaps B.I deserves more than what idols should be.  
  
Which doesn't make sense, so Bobby back tracks and just leaves it at _I only want to talk._  
  
Monday comes and he's back to busing tables for his Aunt at her restaurant. It makes him feel like he's living a double life. He deals with mostly middle aged men who have no idea who he is aside from the owner's nephew. He's pulled into their attempts of friendship in order to appeal to his Aunt, but nothing but a few extra tips comes out of it, so it's fine.  
  
The place is small. Yellow walls and well used fixtures. The water machine hums and occasionally the menu light above the register flickers even though they changed the bulb. Bobby suspects it had to be because of a loose wire, and neither of them wanted to risk messing around with that.  So they left it.  
  
It became one of those quirks that would be missed if repaired, and Bobby senses that it blinks every twenty minutes. So he kinda likes gauging the passing of his shifts with it, not that he's ever sat down and has actually timed it.  
  
The tables are close to the floor and purple pillows lay around. A few of them are patched with scraps of old clothes, so none of them truly match.

Even the rag he uses to clean off the tables is just one of his t shirts from his childhood.  
  
_"Whatever works,"_ his Aunt would say. She only drew a line at duck tape.  
  
_"Taping broken things makes you look cheap. Just buy a new one."_ She'd put her hand on her hip here. _"Reusing fabric from old clothes – that's resourceful!"_  
  
Bobby didn't voice that it's pretty much the same thing. Since she cut no corners with the food he'd let it slide, as did all their regular customers. Plus, on slow nights she'd give him all the food that's left over and to be made fresh tomorrow. So he had reasons to stay on her good side.  
  
And it was here that he stayed for most of his weekdays. He came in the afternoon and stayed till closing, balancing the influxes of customers with the rotating coming and going of part time workers from the university a bus stop away.  
  
There was a small tv perched on the top of the drink fridge. And like most things in this restaurant it had it's own quirks.  
  
Fuzzy lines ran across the screen from age, a small part of the screen's top corner was just a rainbow of colors from when they banged it and that little pool seemed to be slowly growing bigger, and even the picture itself was dull and muted.  
  
But every afternoon it told the traffic and weather reports and at night it showed music shows and idol faces.  
  
And that was how Bobby first came to know of B.I. He hadn't known his name then, but he learned it after.  
  
It's been a year or so since then, yet he still can recall it. He had been busy gathering the dirty dishes and washing off a table in order to ready it for the next set of customers.  
  
Through the talking with clicking of glasses and laughter he caught the riffs of a good beat.  
  
He was a bloodhound to it. The repetitive sound played on catchy and impactful and it drilled right into his ears. He'd never heard anything quite like it. His head automatically nodded in time before he even fully realized it.  
  
He looked up at the fuzzy screen, and there he was, B.I, with five other boys. Then the rap break came and no one else mattered because the only thing Bobby saw was the fight that was held in that center boy's eyes.  
  
This boy, who looked to be swimming in his wardrobe of oversized plaid, had words that cut like jagged knives looking to scar.  
  
It was a presence that demanded attention.  
  
He was no innocent to seeing idols. But there were idols too bad at singing that were passed off to be idols who _"rapped"_ and then there were _rappers_. It was a wide line but, Bobby sensed a change in the distribution.  
  
A middle ground had emerged and in it a single person. B.I, a rapper born to the wrong side. A rapper who was an idol.  
  
Bobby gathered up everything from the table with a sudden burst of energy and then stood in front of that small tv until the song finished.  
  
The screen flashed black and then the hosts were back.  
  
_"Wow~ they’re so cool,"_ it's some cute girl from a group Bobby doesn't care to remember.  
  
But her next line was what stayed in his head.  
  
_"That was ikon's debut stage.”_  
  
And that's all he needed.  
  
Later that night he researched. He rewatched the performance. It was the only one. They truly _were_ totally brand new. Which turns out was an annoying thing.  
  
Firstly, Bobby had to fight his autocorrect to spell icon with a _k_ and then even with that Naver suggested other unrelated things.  
  
Secondly, their discography was non-existent. But there was to be an album coming so Bobby set a reminder in his phone for it.  
  
But Bobby managed to get to a fan forum and then finally to a more official page.  
  
_YG Entertainment's new hip-hop group, IKON._  
  
B.I's face was there to greet him and Bobby momentarily gaped at the titles this younger boy already had to his name. Leader, rapper, lyricist, producer, composer.  
  
After that Bobby spent the rest of his night writing lines. And that weekend he made his first jab towards B.I.

 

 

By the time the second weekend comes, it’s two weeks past the _"B.I siting",_ as Minho refers to it, Bobby has dwindled his stress over it to a stark nothing.

Why should he care? He doesn't. Fuck ikon. Fuck B.I. Double fuck YG Entertainment just because.

 _Tell me again how you_ **_don’t_ ** _care_ , that Minho voice quips. Ok, so yes his annoyance over the whole thing was still there.

He literally _ran_ after B.I. Something in that made him feel pathetic. He ran and watched him leave. They wrote songs for that shit. _He_ **_might_ ** have written lines for that shit.

But, _that_ is besides the point.

There was something else to be felt in every performance B.I remained missing for.

A sensation that prickled the back of his neck.

The shadows may be empty, but he felt more than watched by them. He felt analyzed. Like he was being dissected piece by piece, line by line, and laid out in some exploded view for every mannerism and action to be assessed and searched for meaning.

He sorta loved it. His grins got sharper. The girls screamed harder and the boys all opened their mouths in wanting _O’_ s.

As long as he was on stage then B.I would see him. As long as he was here he could make B.I _want_ him.

This was what he was good at. _This_ he decided, was their game of foreplay.

He looks out at the faces, his eyes glittering.

_See what you're missing?_

His words had bite and he used them to chew.

_Hear what I say._

He played with his body, with the reveals of his skin. He pushed his shirts up higher and pants down lower. And when he rolled his hips, he played dirty. He showed them all how to dream of him.

_You will think of me._

As Bobby took the stage tonight. It would be no different.

The lights, the sounds, the music. He was owning it. He had a feast out before him and he was hungry.

But it _was_ different.

His dessert decided to come today.

He smiles, devilish and wicked. His heart was thumping. His set was ending, the lights were fading, and the crowd was ablaze.

Bobby brings the mic back up to his lips and then he's talking before he can even stop it.

Those days, those weeks spent in waiting. The times he spent teasing and luring his prey in. It's all built up in his mind, in the scribbles in his notebooks, in the burning on his tongue.

"Hold up," he growls. "Holup."

The room holds a breath.

"Turn the lights back up," he orders. "I've got something to say."

The shadows rustle. The crowd howls. And whispers whip down around him like leaves on windy autumn days.

It was so _noisy_. His thoughts were rearranging and he could feel the confusion of the stagehands radiating from behind him.

But he didn't care.

The lights slowly come back on. And they're looking right at each other.

Bobby's grin widens.

"I'm gonna freestyle this shit right now."

Bobby hates that he does it, but he turns his eyes away. If he stared too much the crowd would figure it out.

So he finds Minho in the faces instead.

Secrets were only fun when someone else knows you have one.

He winks.

B.I is _back._

Bobby laughs, brilliantly and loudly.

“Let’s go.”

 

 

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there. Haaaa yes I should warn that although I work on writing this fic diligently, that it still takes some time so do forgive long gaps in updates. Also, this past week has been emotionally upsetting for other reasons. 
> 
> Hopefully the second chapter was worth the wait~ It was more backstory than double b-ness but it will come in time my luvs.
> 
>  
> 
> Again a big thanks to [Aby](http://shimco.tumblr.com/) for keeping me sane. 
> 
> And as always feel free to shout at me on [tumblr](http://coquettish-rap.tumblr.com/) or please tell me what you feel in the comments :>
> 
> ((also if you were a reader for Hyung for a Dongsaeng there's a thing to be had on my tumblr for it in celebration of it reaching 1k hits~))


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bobby is meeting B.I todayyy~ enjoy!

Bobby turns on his heel, putting his back to the crowd. His shoulders slouch and his head already nods in time to sounds inside.  
  
"Yeah, just follow me`," he keeps the mic right on his bottom lip.  
  
"Yeh, yeh," he repeats, giving the crowd a taste of his beat. His words line up in a queue, waiting.

"If you think you're a rapper, come up and face me."  
  
He turns back around with a snarl, "I haven't had a meal in a long time.”

He laughs but the sound is grating and uneven, the crowd whines. He paces.

"If ambition relates to size, then your jaw is gonna hurt when. You. Kneel. For. Mine." He cocks a devil's grin, "there's a difference between you and me."  
  
He stops in the middle of the stage and looks down at the pretty faces at the edge. He winks and grabs the crotch of his pants as he leans over the edge.  
  
"Babe, I'm hustling. It's all I know to do." His canines flash in the lighting. "Every goddamn day of every goddamn week."  
  
He jumps back up and gestures to the exit doors.  
  
"My Mom says come on home, but there won't be a home unless I grind all these challenges into dust. Boy, you think you're better than me? Come prove it."  
  
His voice drops lower, his disgust apparent, "all these idols and fake MCs, y'all ain't nothing but dust on my shoelaces."  
  
He lowers the mic to catch the sound of his hand brushing off that dirt.

"My skills keep growing while you punk asses keep on falling. I'm walking over your corpses of defeat and you think you have the right to _judge_ **_M E ?_** ”  
  
He screams that last pronoun. His voice serrated and gory. He smiles again but his eyes have yet to bare the same affection.  
  
He glances to B.I long enough to know that he's still there. And even that smallest moment hits him with a revenue of recharging lightening.  
  
Bobby lashes back like the thunder claps B.I causes him to make. Power for power. His words rain down and all he has to do is scoop them up like water from a well. A perfect storm.  
  
He gets faster and faster. His tempoed staccato give him no room for error.

This was his game. His message. B.I is listening and this is the proving grounds for his kind. He would not let himself fail.

 _Follow me_ , he had said. _Don't look down. Look at me_ , he urges.  
  
His breathing comes rushed and ragged but his voice is controlled in low baritones. All growls and rough bites. As he goes, it's until the air is exhausted from his lungs. On and on 'til his stomach clenches and his blood throbs from the lack of it.  
  
He sucks in a breath. His tee shirt clings to his skin and his pants ride low at his hips. He feels the tickle of sweat roll down his neck.  
  
The crowd whispers all sadistic and begging in his presence.

He licks his lips.  
  
How many would go home and fuck off to him. How many would clean cum off their keys before writing comments.  
  
He shakes his head and shushes them.  
  
There's only one he wants.  
  
"What do you know of a battle field?" He says it more softly and in the quiet it pierces like sniper fire.  
  
"You think hitting keys and punching letters makes you a war hero," he scans the crowd. "Haters don't have a right to fame. Cursing me out like we're in some mother fucking porno."  
  
His eyes wander back to his catalyst.  
  
B.I still stands there, unmoved and steady.  
  
Bobby walks right up to the edge of the stage once more. The lights glare in his vision.

He bites the tip of his thumb in challenge. Just enough to the skin burn from the rough drag against his teeth.

 _This is for you._  
  
"How about you come up here and try to fuck me?" He grins and this time something gleans in his eye. "Or better yet, lick your lips and get my microphone wet."  
  
He lowers his hand, ignoring every nerve ending screaming for him to do the opposite.

 

 _Come here_ , he thinks.

 

He's still staring at B.I.

 

_Come here and say something._

 

The crowd starts to stir, their heads turning to where Bobby was looking.

It was down to seconds.

 

_Take the mic._

 

B.I doesn't move.

 

 _Take. The. Mic_.

 

The whispers pick up as the crowd hoots like baby owls. _“Who...? Who...?”_

His name already strikes a match up Bobby's throat. He could out him. Right here. Right now.  
  
He could do it right before everyone else figures it out for themselves. But the name is grit on his vocal chords.

 

He couldn't.

 

_Take. The. Mic._

 

Bobby was too selfish.

 

_Take the mic. Pleas–_

 

Bobby recoils. He curses, his fists white knuckle and the crowd's attention deters back to him.  
  
His jaw clenches so tightly that it's hard for him to speak but he curses again.  
  
"That's what I fucking thought," he grinds out.  
  
A lie.  
  
Bobby turns away and walks into the darkness offstage. He shoves the mic into the chest of the first person he meets. It happens to be the rapper set to go on after him.  
  
"Dude," the male hisses, narrowly catching the mic. "What the fuck is your pro—"  
  
Bobby glares and the kid's lips seal shut.  
  
Everyone else moves out of his way.  
  
Their silence was too tense. Bobby knows what they must see. Even his own mind sets itself on loud speaker to backlash his choices.  
  
_Reckless. Greedy_.  
  
He has to get away. He's had enough.  
  
B.I can do whatever the fuck he wanted. Bobby had already shown too much tonight and B.I's silence in reply was enough of a sting.

Bobby was not going to chase him this time.

He slips out through one of the side doors right out onto the street where the night air cools his skin and it’s enough of a distraction to get him to take in a breath.  
  
He stops just to take a second to gather himself. He sits a hand on his hip as the other combs back through his hair.

He closes his eyes and draws in another breath. 

When he exhales the noise in his head turns down a notch.  
  
He could just leave. He glances at his watch, it was still early. With his set over, the rest of the night would be covered by the other rappers on the shared stage.  
  
He grieves a bit for the one on after him.

Bobby knew had a way with the crowd that was hard to follow on any good day. But to add in an unexpected freestyle on top of that meant the energy had doubled. And it was a tricky thing to keep expectations high when the crowd was already buzzing like hornets ready to sting.

But in this field you needed to be able to adapt. So maybe he wasn't that sorry about it, not at all. Add more curses to his name, see what he cares. He’d cut them down again and again.  
  
"Ah fuck," Bobby breathes.  
  
He adjusts the belt of his pants and then stuffs his hands into his pockets.  
  
A few blocks up, through the narrow roads between the buildings, he spies the Han river aglow in reflected lights.  
  
Without thought he starts to walk towards it.  
  
Keeping the club's brick and plaster wall to his right, Bobby avoids looking at the cars on his other side. He rather not see himself misconstrued on their windows and colored paint.  
  
He'll meet up with Minho later to catch the cab home. Bobby figures with the time to spare, he can also pick up some instant ramyeon and soda from the corner store further down the street.  
  
The white of its lights and signaling open sign guides him like a moth to the promise of sun.  
  
He's halfway there when his vision suddenly goes black.  
  
He should have heard the warning click of the unlocking door. Should have noticed the familiar vehicle parked at the curb. He should have just _known_.  
  
But he was too lost in anger and disappointment to be aware of his surroundings.  
  
Bobby staggers back, **_"what the fuck."_ **  
  
His legs almost give way from his surprise as he barely manages to save his face from being smashed in by the club door that slams open in front of him.  
  
Bobby reels back another step.  
  
"Yo," he shouts. "You can't just fling doors open!"  
  
A heavyset man comes around the side of the door to hold it open while another moves to open the door to van conveniently parked right in front of it.  
  
Bobby fumes. He leans to the side to get a look at the assholes.  
  
"Are you even listening? You nearly broke my fucking nose. You gotta...be...more...." Bobby's words trail off as he meets the wide set of depthless onyx eyes in the gap between the door and the shoulders of the man.  
  
There's a flatlining sound going straight through his head from ear to ear and it's taking him awhile to realize what it is he's seeing.

 _Who_ he's seeing.

His mouth hangs open.

Time slows.

His heart thuds heavily in his chest and he doesn't think it's from the shock any more.

When he finally says something the club door has already closed and the van's engine has started.  
  
_Wait_ , he says but it comes out as, "why are you here?"  
  
B.I pauses with his foot up on the threshold to the van.  
  
The warm light within causes a bulky shadow to stretch out over Bobby's feet.  
  
He's just the loose mass of a baggy hoodie and a triple xl green plaid button up over it. Another snapback sits on top of his head and the first word that comes to Bobby's head is soft.  
  
And then the realization that he was this close to B.I to disconcert that thought.  
  
But even the lines of B.I's face are smooth and gentle to match those doe eyes.  
  
Despite the questionable fashion choices, Bobby has a feeling that if he'd just touched him, B.I would feel like luxury thread counts and flower petals.  
  
"Hello Bobby," he speaks and it's a whisper, a whisp of the wind.  
  
Bobby swallows. This was the rapper he's been chasing? The _leader_ of ikon? The _rapper_ that wrote and composed all of his own songs? The same boy from the press conference who shut down the reporters?  
  
He was same one who left Bobby in the street without a goodbye.  
  
Bobby clicks his tongue, "why did you come if you're just going to leave again?"  
  
It comes out of his mouth as an accusation.  
  
B.I turns to the remaining male beside him. The other having already seated himself in the driver's seat of the vehicle.  
  
A manager then? Bobby can only pleasantly say that this one wasn't the asshole who would have had an equally broken nose if that metal door had collided with his own.  
  
The male behind B.I just shrugs, readjusts the wireframes of his glasses and walks to the other side of the van and gets in beside the driver.  
  
B.I turns back, "let me give you a ride home."  
  
Whatever Bobby expected him to say, it wasn't _that_.  
  
"Wait," Bobby blinks and his voice catches. "What?"  
  
B.I steps up and disappears inside. The round of his ass the last thing bobby sees of him.  
  
Bobby thinks to question the legitimacy of this whole thing for exactly one second before the engine revs and Bobby is stepping forward.  
  
He peers in first before taking the closest plush leather seat. He looks back at the door to close it but there's no handle. Instead it closes on its own much to Bobby's alarm.  
  
He knows without looking back that B.I is watching him as he slowly settles in with an enveloping leather squish. It feels like he's sitting on a fucking cloud.  
  
He takes in the state of the interior.  
  
For an idol van, not that he's seen many, it wasn't too...clean. It almost reminds him of the mess in his apartment.  
  
There's empty water bottles and snack wrappers intermingled with a surprising amount of clothes.

A lot of clothes.

Bobby looks towards the back where the disrobing seems to have partaken the most. His mouth get a bit dry when he spots the full undivided seat behind them and two other parallel seats. The thoughts of all the things that could happen with a lack of clothes on that piece of fine leather hits him and he just as quickly looks back to B.I.  
  
The van starts to move.  
  
The light above them on the ceiling dims but stays lit to cut out the night passing by the windows.  
  
B.I had followed his gaze and looks momentarily embarrassed.  
  
"Sorry, for the mess." His eyes come back to Bobby. "The clothes are Junhoe's. He likes to start undressing before we get to the dorm."  
  
Bobby doesn't reply and B.I must hear how that sounds because he quickly adds more to the explanation.  
  
"Well, he used to wait until we got into the elevators because then he could get to the shower faster but.." B.I trails off.  
  
He sounds a tiny bit unsure and shy and Bobby clings to that weakness.

There also seems to be the hinting that if B.I had known they'd be meeting like this that he might have cleaned up a bit. Or at the very least shoved everything into a corner of the van that Bobby wouldn't see. 

Which means this meeting was spontaneous. A chance of luck. If Bobby could call it that.  
  
"Why didn't you take it?" Bobby wants that answer above all else.  
  
"Take what?"  
  
"The mic."  
  
B.I shrugs a bit, "I didn't have anything to say."  
  
"Bullshit," Bobby snaps. "All this coming and going. You're treating me like some casual fuck. Am I just some form of entertainment to you?"  
  
"I wanted to see you," B.I says it slowly as he leans in closer on his arm rest.  
  
Something in the honesty in his tone makes Bobby's heart skitter.    
  
All that physically divides them is a single foot gap between the seats. Bobby is happy for it even though B.I, with his legs crossed at the knee, kicks a converse laced shoe side to side in the space. A reminder of how close to touching they could be.  
  
"But you were leaving," Bobby says softer than he would have liked. A sound too vulnerable for the feeling of claws shredding his insides. "Again."  
  
"Yes," B.I says. "And yet here we are."  
  
He gestures with a flip a of his too long of a sleeve towards Bobby, to this. The van. Them in this moment.    
  
Bobby chokes on the incredulousness and has to roll his lips between his teeth to stop his disparaging smile from breaking free.  
  
"Maybe because you knew I'd jump in front of your fucking van to stop you this time."  
  
"Would you really?" B.I looks genuinely curious.

 _Probably._  
  
"Your henchmen nearly broke my fucking nose with that exit door. I would have stopped you to pay my for my fucking hospital bills.

B.I's lips quirk, hiding a smile, "sorry."  
  
They stare at each other for a second.  
  
Bobby suddenly coughs and B.I's lips quiver just slightly more. Bobby catalogs that in the back of his mind.  
  
"Don't you want to ask me to join your boy group?" Bobby asks.  
  
B.I raises his brows, "would you say yes?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Then no," B.I says lightly. "I don't want to ask you yet."  
  
" _Yet_ ," Bobby echos. "Then why are you here?"  
  
"I heard you've been talking shit."  
  
The curse rolls off B.I's tongue so easily that Bobby can't stop the honest smile that spreads his lips apart.  
  
He knows B.I was avoiding his questions.  
  
"I'll just keep doing it until you stop me," Bobby banters.  
  
"I know what you want from me Bobby," B.I slides one of his hands between his thighs and Bobby's eyes follow the movement.  
  
Bobby swallows, "I doubt that."  
  
"I do," B.I's tone sharpens and by the time Bobby looks back at his face, the softness of his features have disappeared.  
  
His stare narrows and Bobby feels the static of the rising storm between them stir.  
  
"From one rapper to another, I have the same frustrations. But corporate politics is beyond even my full comprehension. Which means it's doubly over yours."  
  
Bobby feels the sting in that dismissal. He turns inward for his own arsenal.  
  
"So it's true," he shoots. "You're nothing but a slave to that company. Another spineless idol. But look at you exploiting the skill for playing mind games. Right? That's what this is?"  
  
"Right now," B.I's voice remains steady. "I'm just having a conversation while giving you a ride home."  
  
Bobby doesn't say anything and B.I doesn't seem to mind the silence. But being this close and not getting any solid answers was nails on the chalkboard to him.  
  
But he had nothing to say after that. Though, to his surprise, it's B.I that breaks the stalemate.  
  
"We're not so different Bobby," he says it so seriously that Bobby feels wrong to disagree, but he does.  
  
"I think we are," Bobby whispers.  
  
The van stops.  
  
"Then you're a fool who only sees the surface. If you really want what you want then you'll have to try a bit harder."  
  
_If you really want what you want._ Bobby repeats in his head.  
  
His stomach drops but he feels weightless and high at the thought of it.  
  
"How?" His voice comes out ragged.  
  
"I think the right words have not been said."  
  
The door behind Bobby opens.  
  
He turns, green awnings still lit up for the late weekend business glow from across the street. The familiar menu light flickers inside as if saying _welcome back._  
  
His aunt's restaurant. And a few floors above that he had an apartment doubling as storage.  
  
It just occurs to him that he hadn’t given an address for them to drive him too.  
  
He spins back to B.I.  
  
"You..." Bobby falters.  
  
"Goodnight Bobby," B.I says not moving from his position.  
  
Bobby understands when he's no longer wanted and one look at the men with B.I tells him that they could easily throw him out of this van.  
  
He still wants the last word though.  
  
"Thanks for the ride," he manages as he slips out of the soft marshmallow seat of leather. "Sleep well. Don't choke on the small change that company lets you keep."  
  
His feet hit the ground and he steps away with one last look at B.I.  
  
The doors have already started to close but Bobby catches B.I's smirk.  
  
"Thatta boy," B.I encourages. And then the van pulls away.  
  
Bobby tells himself not to but he watches it leave, again.  
  
He turns away when the street light changes and he makes away across the street. He pulls out his phone as he goes.  
  
Seven new text messages. All from Minho.  
  
**Shit,** _Minho_. He totally forgot about his friend.    
  
Bobby feels a stab of guilt as he pulls them up to read.  
  
_22:23 Where u at?_ _  
__  
__22:25 Bobby?_

 _22:33: Dude! Tell me you're getting some ;)_ _  
_ _  
_ _22:35: Oh shit. Is it B.I? He was there today right?_ _  
_ _  
_ _22:35: TELL ME YOU'RE NOT FUCKING BOY WONDER_ _  
_ _  
_ _22:36: Or do tell me. Use protection xoxo_ _  
_ _  
_ _22:44 Ok I'm getting a cab. If I don't hear from you by tomorrow afternoon I'm gonna have to seriously consider your theory on YG being the mafia and you've just been kidnapped._  
  
Bobby scoffs.  
  
“ _Sorry, he offered me a ride home. Couldn't refuse”_ Bobby types back.  
  
The reply is immediate.  
  
_23:14: You're shitting me. What a gent ;)_  
  
Bobby stops outside the window to the restaurant. Turning slightly so the lights won't cast a glare on his screen.    
  
_"YG is totally the front for the mafia. They have self closing doors on their vans.”_ He sends.  
  
He can hear Minho's laugh in the tear jerked emoji that follows.  
  
_23:16:_ _The 21st century certainly has some crazy shit in it._ Minho replies.  
  
A knock at the glass has Bobby looking up and meeting the stern _what are you doing out there_ look from his aunt. She holds up a plastic bin of dirty dishes.  
  
_"Are you busy?"_ She mouths.  
  
_"I'll call you tomorrow,"_ Bobby texts to Minho.  
  
A few thumbs up come in response before Bobby slips his phone back into his pocket and walks into the restaurant to help his aunt.

 

 

Bobby awakes with a start to the dim of his bedroom.

Lines of street lights peek through the blinds adding rivers to the landscape of his sheets.  
  
He sits up and the soft cotton mountains and valleys get sculpted anew between his legs.    
  
He cradles his head in his hand, the base of his palms press into his tired eyes. This marks the fourth or fifth time tonight that he's been startled out of sleep.  
  
He's used to nightmares of anxiety plaguing him. Forgetting lines, not being good enough, failing. They all wake up him with the same sensation of falling from a great height.  
  
This time though, his skin is laced with sweat and the palpitations of his heart come for entirely different reasons.  
  
Discarded grey hoodies and green plaid litter the floors of his mind and B.I's face is there to greet him every time he closes his eyes and recedes through the doors that his conscious self had sealed off.  
  
His skin tingles where a dream B.I had touched him. It feels like the remnants of a dying fire. Hot and stinging. One at his knee and another at his shoulder, a full weight had been there as the boy had leaned in and right against Bobby's ear whispered the same message over and over.  
  
_"I know what you want from me Bobby."_  
  
The _y_ of his name gets dragged into a hiss and at this moment is when he wakes each time.

The locations keep changing, a stage, the restaurant, the van, the river, but this one...  
  
Bobby shudders, a moan kicks up his throat and he strangles it. He flips back down on his back.  
  
He can't ignore the issue this time around.  
  
The sweat on his skin is no less a coolant than the accelerated breathing leaving his lips is a relaxer.  
  
The dream, this time around, was more intimate. It had happened in this bed. _His_ bed. And no matter how Bobby goes about it, it just won't leave his mind as quickly as the rest.  
  
The cool voice echos again, _"I know what you want from me Bobby."_ and it kindles the heat on his skin, in his gut.  
  
He keeps an arm across his eyes as a hand slips down under the covers, under the elastic of his boxers.  
  
_"Fuck_ , _"_ he gasps.  
  
B.I's face is there in his mind from when the van doors were closing, _"thatta boy,"_. B.I smiles.  
  
Bobby twists over in the sheets and it’s all he needs before his hand comes away sticky.  
  
He lets out a breath and the visions on his memory clear in wisps of smoke.  
  
He thinks he understands what he needs to do.

 

 

For obvious reasons he doesn't go back to sleep. He takes a shower and starts the laundry instead.  
  
His hair is still dripping down on his shoulders as he paces the short hallways of his apartment.  
  
On his phone his fingers type out a stream of letters that become words. And words into sentences and sentences into lines.  
  
If B.I wanted ammunition, then Bobby would give it to him.  
  
When he's done his hair has dried with little curls at the tips and the sun is up high in the sky.  
  
He calls Minho.  
  
"I need you to record something," he says without preamble. "It's for B.I."  


* * *

* * *

 

  
  
"You really think this will work?" Minho gives him a frown but holds his phone at the ready.  
  
They're at the underpass, an old haunting ground from their high school days.  
  
It was here that they saw their first rap battle. Where Bobby's passion for the art was birthed. A place Bobby returns to time and time again for the comforting nostalgia.  
  
It's a quiet place in the evenings, set between a park and the Han river behind them, the only noise comes from the passing cars over head or the occasional family walking past on a stroll.  
  
A cool breeze sweeps across them hitting Bobby with the tang of salt and exhaust fumes. And somewhere in that the spices of nearby street vendors.  
  
"Yes," he stresses. "Just record me when I say ready."  
  
"Fuck, I'd record you riding the playground equipment if you said to. I'm just questioning if _this_ is the right move."  
  
He feels both on the verge of a break through and splitting from the need to punch something repeatedly.

The dream flitters through Bobby's mind but he clamps it down. 

 _"I think the right words have not been said."_ B.I had said last night in the van.  
  
"I think he was hinting at something," Bobby says. "He told me to try harder."  
  
"Try for what though?"  
  
"For what I want."  
  
Minho stares blankly at him.  
  
"Right," he says. "And do _you_ even know what you want?"  
  
Bobby bites his bottom lip. _Yes._  
  
"Stop asking me questions," Bobby snaps. "I'm ready."  
  
Minho exaggerates an eye roll but holds his hand up to silently count down the time.

Bobby was going to make it impossible for B.I or that company to ignore him.

Where not replying made _them_ look weak.

3

2

1

"You write all your own lyrics," Bobby spits. "But how many lines you got wasting away 'cause you can't curse on broadcast."  
  
He cracks a smile.  
  
"Company life has made you soft. You fight more to keep dirty the CEO's money weighed pants up than you do for your music."  
  
"This is my art. My passion. My _life._  And you're just another pawn worth knocking over. I’m just speaking truths here but if you disagree then let’s meet. I'll hear you out.”  
  
"Come on **_B.I_ ** , I'm _waiting_."  
  
He bares his teeth at the camera. He was only just beginning.

 

 

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweet candies and cake we made it to chapter 3 \o/ can I just say I really love Minho in this one? Haaa~ what a good friend. AND I HOPE YOU ALL LIKE B.I o-o I think he was fun to write here only cause he was so chill while Bobby was all high on 'what the fuckkkk' juices. This B.I is more cunning than I think we're used too. BUt he's still a dork and it'll all come out in time~
> 
> My anxiety for this one was really high! But ugh you guys's comments have pulled me through and I read them again and again ; ~ ; a few of you have mentioned that you check DAILY to see if this fic is updated and omg *sobs* ily and I'm sorry
> 
> For further updates expect them to come in 2 week intervals and I favor posting on weekends.
> 
> Again loves for my beta and breathing coach [Aby](http://shimco.tumblr.com/). Kat I hope you love this Minho.
> 
> And I'm still on [tumblr](http://coquettish-rap.tumblr.com/) if you wanna be all anon and confess how much Bobby is in denial. Or is he? hm..


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you see this beautiful ` mark it means the lyric came from a song and is sited below. 
> 
> Enjoy the peacocking Hanbin ;)

 

 

There are moments when the energy in a room is so palpable that it feels just as real as the glittering dust motes dancing in the stage lights. As alive as the beating of his heart.

A moving, breathing, feral beast born of heat and fury. Of greed and lust.

Its core essence saturates him and Bobby keeps on drinking until he's drunk with it. That unadulterated pureness of excitement.

It makes salt bleed from his pores and roars curses up his throat. All the dips and curves in it’s power. The unison of their bodies.

Harder, _faster_. Faster, _harder_.

Bobby laughs and it's a crazy howl of a thing. Primal and sharp.

The crowd screams back without fear. _More, more,_ **_more._ ** It’s fuel to the fever.

 

Another rapper walks off stage defeated. One more name to Bobby's list of murders.

Bobby grins and the whole building swoons from the force of it.

The hollers that follow shake his bones as wildly as the trap beats do.

And then it's another rapper. And another, and another, on and on.

A week since he's seen B.I. A week that he spent distracted by the fury of words building in his head.

His phone's battery had cried at the constant use. And when staring at that screen got to be too much, or not allowed if he was working, then he switched to napkins and scrounged paper.

Scribbles of his sanity littered his bedroom floor, everything overflowing.

It's too much but it keeps pouring out of him. Tangles and tangles and hurricanes of so much to say. The seconds and minutes refusing to slow down for him to get it all down before another thought replaced it.

It was partially why he agreed to headline this rap battle. The dam of build up that it would partially break inside of him, the release it promised him.

And who could stop him?

 _Title defender,_ that's what it says under his name on the poster. And although the sharpened knives that leave him may miss his intended target, they still do a good enough job slicing through the rest.

Only some could withstand the force of his attack. Only a few who made him stay alert, lasting longer, and inspired his best.

And then the ones who that took no work at all and folded under the crowd's booing alone.

Without discrimination Bobby eats them all. An addict looking for a fix.

_"I've never seen you so worked up," Minho's words resounded in his head. The worry obvious. "Just because you dissed him doesn't mean the company will just let him do whatever."_

And maybe Minho was right. Maybe Bobby was going crazy over it. But he just knew in his gut the type of guy B.I is.

_He'll come._

_He'll come to me when he is ready._

  


The mic cackles in his grip. The lights flash in his vision and the music plays on his nerves with all the artistry of guitar strings. His whole body thrums with it.

A new name is called out, one Bobby hasn't heard before.

He turns, and there ascending the steps, a teen with a face still plump with baby fat in his cheeks.

Bobby spreads his arms wide, smiling dangerously as he yields ground to the entering contender.

_Welcome._

The youth comes into view of the crowd, momentarily shielding his eyes from the light.

Bobby laughs and the crowd mirrors the sentiment.

Up close Bobby spots the flaw in quality on the boy's “ _adidas”_ white tee. Hand drawn letter forms and logo.

Bobby lets loose a breath, his tongue following to wet his lips.

_Too easy._

The boy pushes the black plastic glasses up on his nose but, they just slide back down from the sweat beaded there.

Their eyes meet and even the announcer stifles a cackle at the freshness of this youth.

Bobby motions him to proceed first and on that queue the track kicks back up from a soft rumbling to its booming hysteria.

The guts it's taken this kid to stand here, Bobby can commend it. Sees it when the teen's eyes harden into a steady glare. A glimpse of that high strung rapper ego.

The kid brings the mic up to his lips and Bobby leans in.

An opening in the beat appears and disappears, appears and disappears, and finally the boy speaks but he's a second off and the words fall off rhythm.

Bobby inwardly cringes, his face contorting with his disapproval.

The boy looks away and tries to fight it, right it. But it gets worse and unsteady as the flow picks up on the desperation.

 _Breathe._ Bobby wants to command. _Just stop for a second, re center and fucking_ **_breathe._ **

The boy curses. A silence follows and Bobby is all but willing to grab this crowd's attention back for himself and set the flow back on track. But then the teen is trying again.  

At first quietly, voice and bravado building. But still the words trip. He grimaces and Bobby has had enough of this joke.

He lifts his own mic. He'll end this right now.

His tongue pushes against his teeth readying to form the perfect sound, but the music dies.

A complete cut off.

The lack of it reverberates in his bones and hits him like a sucker punch.

He ignores it though. He can get through technology mishaps. It happens.

So he keeps going. He can hear his voice loud in his head. And it’s only after a second, some fault that shakes the energy in the room, that he realizes that his mic too has been cut.

His words die. The boy on stage with him looks shocked, equally confused. Their eyes lock in question on the other.

And then a heavy thunk booms through the room. Bouncing off the ceiling and echoing before it’s just, nothing but dark.

Surprised screams spout from the crowd, and Bobby doesn't dare move an inch.

 

The stage lights have just gone out.

 

A mic screeches to life. It’s so loud and corrosive that it cuts right into the eardrums.  

The crowd whines and Bobby ducks his head as if to avoid it.

But then a voice.

"I think it's time to fuck with someone your own size."

His skin shivers, plagued with rising goosebumps. The voice was everywhere at once, but he could swear it came from somewhere right next to him.

The air moves around him.

The lights flash back on with sudden bravo. Bobby has to fight the urge to blink as the crowd hisses.

He turns, he needs to know. Has to see.

The lights stutter out again, but Bobby saw enough.

 _A grey hoodie._ **_THAT_ ** _grey hoodie_.

Colored spots dance in the darkness before him.

His retinas still burning from the assault, but he stands there staring at that spot. That shadow in the darkness where a face would be. And it's there he's still looking when the lights, this time, gently fade back in.

They're only three feet away from each other and now everyone is seeing him too.

Bobby's previous opponent startles, taking a step to leave the stage. A cry unleashing itself from his throat as he takes another step.  

He must think he's seen a ghost but, Bobby knows better.

Dead silence, and then –

 

"Hello, Bobby."

 

Merth. That voice carries so much of it in that repeated greeting. And Bobby gets it like the inside joke that it's beginning to be.

 _Again,_ Bobby thinks. We're meeting _again_.

He doesn't have to see where the mic was touching upon puffy lips. Or see the jutting wide rounded nose. Or even see the cavities in those eyes to know they're just as equally staring back at him.

He'd rip off that hood just for pleasure of showing off his consort. That priceless being he's been safe keeping and shining up with polish of words and disses.

Bobby brings his mic up, the only movement in the still too quiet room.

"I see you found the key out of YG's dungeon, **_B.I._ ** "

Slender hands reach up. Hands straight from Bobby's dreams. With all their soft arches and curves where joints meet, swelling in knobs for knuckles and crooks of the finger.

The fingers of a pianist, pretty and elegant. They fold over the lip of that hood and pull back.

Bobby expected it, but his stomach still flips, leaving him momentarily queasy. His heart rides that wave up into his throat, clenching at the sight.

B.I tips the corner of his mouth up and Bobby laughs over the shock of the crowd.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

_Bobby was going to lose._

B.I hadn’t missed a second in showing him up. This whole upstaging planned for.

Once that hood was off, the music shot through those speakers with bullets of keyboard synths and kickdrums. The sound ripping holes through all that Bobby built. And as the words came out from that mouth the beast that once roamed so freely was met by another.

It was an earthquake of a presence that Bobby had and hadn't expected.

Just, like, he _knew_ under all that idol shit what B.I truly was. A _rapper_. But this, **_this_ ** , was raw and full of teeth.

The building crackled with the strain of it. The energy so intense, not even Bobby could manage not swaying from the blow of it.

B.I turns his assault to the innocent bystanders.  

"B to the I that’s me`. But you know, I’m that Idol on TV who’s rapper all day. Shit’s been said, but it’s all hearsay. If you have an issue then go plug in the aux.”

"I’m here all night fighting this hoe," he turns back to Bobby and Bobby meets his stare.

"You, who’s coming at me so cocky. Did you think our mics where sticks of pocky? Should we play pepero or put on a show?"

"Stop acting like you're such a hater. I see your head nodding. For me, the real trendsetter. So let’s just get on my beat and start riding."

B.I turns back to the crowd.

"Did you hear me? I said I’m gonna ride the beat so clap`.”

“Clap for me baby`. It’s a demand, not a maybe. Clap for me baby. Clap, clap for me baby.”

It’s the _hook_.

It's infectious. B.I repeats it and the crowd follows along. Bodies rock, feet lift off the ground and something in Bobby snaps.

He's been waiting for this. Waiting to live for _this_. A stage with this man. If only just to prove them all wrong.

Not an idol. _More than_ an idol _._

His body sways, his calves burn, and then his head starts going and Bobby can’t fight it. He wants to fuck to this sound, rap to this beat, punch B.I in the face and blame it on the rush.

B.I throws him a glance. A challenge?

Bobby bares his teeth and takes it.

“Clap for me baby. Clap, clap for me baby.” His voice a deep breath. A rumble of moved mountains. “It’s a demand not a maybe.”

He doesn’t even bother with the crowd. No. He gets right into B.I’s space. Can measure the width of that neck with his fingers.

“Yeah, dissing idols all day and night. I won’t deny that I’m that cocky piece of shit. But how about you give me a ride instead? Get the mouthwash, we’re going until you choke.”

“They call you a flower boy. Got a makeup artist on you all day. And Bitches here don’t know just how well you pay.”

He strikes a forefinger across B.I's cheek. And studies it, waiting for the beat to open and then,

“Hm, what’s all this contour doing on YG’s toy?”

The crowd screams.

“If you’re so fucking good`. Why are you rotting away in the practice room? King of secret raps. Is it a still skill if no one knows it?”

Bobby spins full circle a wild _whoa_ bursting from his lips.

He’s so into this.

He comes back to B.I’s space adding in exaggerated body movements to play up his words. If he was going down he’ll go bloody and dead.

“I heard ikon needs another member. Why? Well, let’s do the math. Three to your left. Three to your right. You truly have no shame. Hogging up that middle spotlight.”

“I don’t need the support. When I’m on this beat, I’m just like a dog with a bone. Give me another treat. And I’ll decide whether to bark or bite.”

“So clap, clap for me baby,” he spits the hook right into B.I’s face. Nose to nose. “It’s a demand, not a maybe. Clap for me _baby._ ”

B.I actually scowls at him as he takes it back.

“Clap, clap for me baby. It’s a demand, not a maybe.”

“You wanna laugh at my skills?” B.I lunges at him,

“I’ll succeed at whatever I do`. Oh no, boy, Photoshop won’t help me now. I’m YG’s fucking cash cow. I’ll go to the butcher with you.”

“Read me the price on words rawer than your ass when I’m done with you.”

B.I actually winks at him and Bobby thinks he might have imagined it.

“Take another look at what’s on your finger. Fool, it’s the proof of YG’s gold digging.”

“Still wanna laugh? Your sorry lines aren’t even funny when I’m standing right here. I know it's my confidence that makes you get hard. When I'm here there's no other ace. I’m like the mothafuckin' king of Asgard. So let me just sit on your face.”

Bobby licks his lips, he was losing.

“Fucking clap for me,” B.I screams over the roars of his name. “It’s a demand, not a maybe.”

Bobby watches B.I’s back as he dances along the edge. Not a drop of sweat on him.

“I’ll rock my hips to the beat. And take that crown like its no heavy weight. So let’s just mark this date,” B.I looks over his shoulder at him. “As the day we saw Bobby’s defeat."

Bobby lost. And it felt fucking great.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

If Bobby hadn’t see it himself he would have thought B.I had just vanished.

One minute he was there at the foot of the stage drinking in the fanfare. The next he was off and flanked by that manager with glasses and the door swinging asshole.

 _Yes,_ Bobby was still bitter about that.

Bobby has to jog to keep up with him.

He doesn't even think of the mess left on stage right now. That dripping of carnage and ecstasy left in their wake.

Something paramount just happened. And he was too excited to think of anything but him and B.I.

_B.I and him._

Maybe he was just as high as that crowd. He too could shout for a encore. But all he has in sight right now was that boy's back and something inside Bobby was both breaking and jittery.

Had they not just ripped a hole in the world of rap battles? Had B.I not just proven his name as a rapper? Had Bobby's dream not just come true?

 _More_ , his body begs. He wants this and nothing else. He'd go all night with this guy. This hardass YG rapper buried under school uniforms and pop songs.

_Wait._

They round a corner into a long hall for the dressing rooms. There's wooden crates stacked along the wall and black rolling boxes for sound equipment. Bobby has to zigzag in the narrow space in order to keep eye contact on B.I's profile.

_Stop._

At the end of the hall waits the exit doors. Wide and heavy and Bobby automatically hates them.

A gap appears though, it opens like a portal and Bobby jumps it. Squeezing in between the wall and the asshole's shoulders.

And then he's out in front.

He wheels on them, taking his steps backwards as B.I's eyes meet with his.

That flush of anger has dampened in them, once again, this year younger boy looks soft and gentle. A tiger ladened in sheep's wool.

 _"What?"_ Bobby laughs, out of breath. He tries to block them, slow them down but it doesn't seem effective.

"You're not going to offer me a ride home?"

"We're heading to the airport," B.I whispers. "I'm leaving for China."

 _"China?"_ Bobby repeats dumbly.

"It's been fun, Bobby." B.I smiles. "We'll meet again."

"Like hell we will," the distance between them and door is only a good few running leaps now.  

Bobby stomps his foot down, suddenly braking right in front of them. His heart hollows out like he's about to get hit by a freight train but they efficiently stop.

"Move," the asshole orders. His thick hand comes to push Bobby's shoulder, but Bobby twists his body to avoid it.

"Why do you keep running away?" He demands. "I already told you that I hate playing this game. You fucking _mildang_ prince."

"Not king?" B.I muses.

The four eyes manager twitches next to him, "there's a schedule..."

"Bobby –" B.I starts.

"Another song," Bobby says quickly on a single rushed breath. And when B.I doesn't respond right away Bobby tries again. "Give me another song."

The two older males push forward and Bobby yields a step as B.I gets jostled between them.

"A collab," Bobby manages. "Just you and me. You can't deny that what we had out there was _different_."

They're moving to the door again and even without seeing it Bobby can feel it looming behind him as if it would slam into him any moment now.

"I'm going to be out of Korea for awhile," B.I manages and Bobby doesn't miss the weary glance the four eyed manager gives him.

This time Bobby does chance a look behind him and the double exit doors are right there an arm length away from him.

Asshole moves forward alone and Bobby stumbles out of the way. The other wraps an arm around B.I's shoulders, pulling him in close."

The door clicks open and it's all a rush.

"Just tell me that you felt it." Bobby says, hating himself. All those words and he can't use them right now. Can't find the vocabulary to make him sound less desperate.

 _The greatness that was them. Of all they could be. The freedom B.I would have if he_ **_stayed._ **

"Of course," B.I says, their eyes lingering.

So close. They were so close.

Screams explode into the hall. And then the flash of camera lights.

"Let's go," someone orders and then B.I is pulled away from him.

Bobby turns and it’s a sea of people, girls, waiting outside that door. They surge up around B.I and Bobby chokes on the claustrophobia it gives him. His skin suddenly itchy and insides full of an upsetting nausea.  

He can't move.

The doors are swinging close just as B.I reaches the van. His head turning for one last glance at Bobby.

_Wait..._

The door lock clicks back into place.

Bobby takes a breath.

 _"Of course."_ Bobby echoes.

 

 

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sources: “B to the I that’s me...”- Ringa Linga ikon cover // “I’m gonna ride the beat so clap” - Go // Clap for me baby - B.I’s cypher challenge // If you’re so fucking good (this whole line is a reference) - I’m ill // I’ll succeed at whatever I do - Be I // 
> 
> there might be more but it's hard for me to track them so forgive me o-o 
> 
> More notes if needed:  
> Pepero game - the game seen on variety shows where a duo eats away at a stick of pepero/ pocky to the point it looks like they’ll kiss. [Example](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zvo1UiSFcp0)  
> Mildang - a term used for saying “push and pull” aka being flirty and yet hard to get.
> 
> ~ ~ 
> 
> asdfghjkl tell me what you think of the raps. LIKE B.I THE PEACOCK?! That's what me and Aby call him haha. This B.I has made "peacocking" a legit word. 
> 
> I like the pocky line the most only cause it calls out Bobby so hard? But yess anyways, there's a lot to gather and read deeper into in this chapter. Also I really tried to make their rap styles different. Bobby is a total free verse whereas Hanbin has some more rhymes. But if this fic has taught me anything, it is that I am not a rapper *cries*.
> 
> I asked if you guys would like a playlist that goes along to this and a good few of you said yes. So it's up on my tumblr [ [here](http://coquettish-rap.tumblr.com/clap-for-me-baby) ] with links to the youtube playlist. It's just a small selection of what I use while I write. You can me send songs too, a few already did and I might add them in as a fan section :)
> 
>  
> 
> Ok~ comments make me feel like warm hot chocolate


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's cliffhanger. And then there's CLIFFHANGER. You'll be happy I promise, but don't say I didn't warn you.
> 
> Same as last time -> ` <\- marks lines or words that are sourced or explained at the bottom. Also I updated the tags, but if you made it here than you already know (I forgot to add them last update lol sorry~)

Apparently _"I'm going to be out of Korea for awhile"_ literally means **_for awhile_** **.  
  
** Which, might just be only a misunderstanding on Bobby's part. Cause all the other times _for awhile_ was just one or two weeks. But this time, it’s budding up against _four_.  
  
Which is pretty much a whole fucking month.  
  
Yeah, that’s right. A whole fucking **MONTH.  
  
** It only occurred to him halfway through the second week of wondering what the fuck B.I could possibly be doing in China for a _month_ , that he could in fact find out.  
  
And bless the internet because right away he found an ikon schedule detailing the extended stay activity as a _chinese music competition show_ with two recordings a week.  
  
And right below that, cause fans are amazing, were links to the fan subbed episodes from start to present. So he watched them. All three. And then watched them again. And then called Minho to come watch them too.  
  
Which kinda helps him to understand why the whole of ikon was away for so long. Considering the filming and the practicing and everything else that they could possibly being doing for the show. Bobby assumes it makes sense to stay in the hotel there rather than fly back and forth from Korea.  
  
But god damn. A whole month?  
  
"Hey, does your Aunt have anymore of that soup with the seafood?"  
  
"There's no fucking way I'm letting you eat that smelly ass thing in this apartment," Bobby says as he tries and fails to get the right video on his laptop to load.  
  
Minho pouts, "whatever. I thought since you were forcing me to watch your boyfriend speak chinese that you'd at least spoil me some more."  
  
"You can leave if you want," Bobby quips and then rather too late, "he's not my boyfriend."  
  
Minho doesn't miss it.  
  
"Uh huh," he sing songs, plucking up another cut of kimbap and speaking around it adds, "I've been friends with you long enough to know the type of guys you like."  
  
Bobby clicks his tongue in dismissal.  
  
"You can deny it all you want," Minho continues. "But I have video proof of your heart eyes for him in that diss battle."  
  
Bobby blinks, for a second he feels the ghost of dreamt hands, elegant and firm, against his skin, on his tongue. The heat of an imagined mouth pressed to places he couldn't reach with his own. His skin flushes, the rush coming from the fragments of dreams he's woken up to in the past few weeks.  
  
Bobby scowls.  
  
"Choke on that fucking riceball would you," Bobby snaps.  
  
"Nice," Minho says taking another. "I'll make sure to wish you the same when you get his pants off."  
  
Bobby choughs, a mix of surprise and laughter. Minho smiles back with a wink.  
  
Bobby doesn't have a retort ready for that, but luckily the video blares to life. The sudden sound of it making them both jump.  
  
It's the most recent episode for the show and it distracts them both long enough that Bobby can ignore having to fend himself from Minho’s teasing.  
  
He enlarges it and slides back against the couch with his bowl of raymun in hand just as ikon flashes up on the screen.  
  
Minho looks ready to make another comment.  
  
"Just watch the show," Bobby mumbles lowly.  
  
"Shì, shì," Minho says in chinese failing to hide his snark.  
  
Bobby actually growls at him.

 

 

  
_"Bobby."  
  
_ He hardly hears his name over the laptop speakers until Minho punches his leg and nods to the doorway.

 _"Bobby."  
  
_ It's his Aunt.  
  
He jumps up from his spot, already starting to call out just as she appears in the entranceway right in front of him.  
  
She startles and lightly laughs it off with a pat to his chest.  
  
"This just came in the mail for you," she hands over a padded yellow envelope and Bobby's breath catches.  
  
_Chinese postal markings.  
  
__He_ didn't, Bobby starts to think. _He_ wouldn't have?  
  
He rips the seal to look inside.  
  
_"Oh, Minho hello!"_ She spots the other boy and leans past Bobby. "I have maeuntang`! I'll bring up a bowl and some to take home."  
  
She quickly shuffles away after that, cooing a charming _aigoo_ as Minho overly praises her treatment of growing boys. And then with a pointed glare towards Bobby, “ _unlike other people.”  
  
_ But Bobby isn’t paying attention. He's just staring at the package in his hand.  
  
_He did.  
  
_ After a bit of time Minho pauses the show, engulfing them into a silence.  
  
"What is it?" Minho finally asks and Bobby just looks up at him and blinks.  
  
“What?” Minho tries again. “Who’s it from?”  
  
"It's from B.I," Bobby says slowly, looking back inside the envelope to pull out a small flash drive and post-it note.  
  
"I think," Bobby starts to smile. "I think it’s a new track."  
  
Minho whistles, "and the note?"  
  
_"Next Friday, same place. Let's meet on stage."_ He reads.  
  
And It's all messy hangul. Letters in various sizes with rounded angles and wide spacing. B.I's signature is at the bottom.  
  
Bobby was keeping this note. Probably forever.  
  
"Dude," Minho starts, his voice a sound of awe. "That means..."  
  
"He want to do a collaboration," Bobby finishes. "I'm doing a collaboration with **B.I**."  
  
"You're doing a collaboration with B.I," Minho echos.  
  
The surprise, the disbelief, the excitement. It all catches up to him at once. A single note of laughter slips out of him, and then the rest bubbles up behind it.  
  
He's laughing, he can't stop. He's trying and failing. But every time he looks at the flash drive in his palm it comes out of him with such force.  
  
All his work. All his work was paying off.  
  
"Well," Minho edges carefully when Bobby finally gets it down to controllable hiccups. "You gonna listen to it or what?"

 

* * *

* * *

 

Bobby enjoys creating. Writing lyrics, arranging them into a story, a message. Making music.  
  
What B.I has offered him, it wasn't just another generic beat in the DJ's lineup.  
  
It was more than just something to be played over the speakers waiting for him to freestyle over.  
  
No, it wasn't a tug of war with being better. Staking a claim. It was already _his_.  
  
_And it was theirs.  
  
_ It brought him to a sanctuary in the space of his mind. Where composition rolled like gentle breezes and his story, his words, bursted in vivid colors. And together a scene was painted, ever moving.  
  
Three songs. That's what B.I had given him.  
  
And in each one B.I had already laid out their parts. His voice already there between empty gaps for where Bobby was to fill in.  
  
The lines Bobby had planned were already finished, every action and tone memorized. And yet still he listened. Eyes closed and breathing even.  
  
He listened to the intricate shifts in the sounds. The way one flowed into to the next. The length of certain parts versus another. The lows and the highs.  
  
He could feel B.I's presence in the pieces. He could imagine the boy hunched over a laptop in some foreign studio lining up the beats, picking the instruments, replaying and replaying it until it was perfect.  
  
Then recording the guide for where his vocals were to go. His voice filled with fight and promise.  
  
Or maybe he already had the songs made and was waiting for the moment to arise to use them.  
  
Either way Bobby feels him in every bit of it. All uniquely his.  
  
And some part of Bobby couldn't bring himself to be distracted from the fact that, it was _B.I_ who had asked _him_ to wait weeks ago.  
  
And while B.I was away China, it was _Bobby_ , B.I had thought of.  
  
Between practices and new songs and foreign languages, there was _him_. B.I had been thinking about **_him._  
  
** Bobby opens his eyes at last, a blank ceiling meeting him instead of the dark moonless eyes that he's been envisioning staring back at him.   
  
_Tomorrow,_ he thinks. _I will see you_ **_tomorrow_**.

 

* * *

* * *

 

Bobby was pretty sure Minho was willing to punch him a few times on the bus ride over, just for constantly moving. Leg bouncing, hand jiving, head turning movement.  
  
Each time, however, he apparently thought against it.  
  
Bobby should have asked him to though. For a bruise on his leg would be a good thing to have right about now just so he'd have something to jab his fingers at. Maybe distract him from the fact that the second to last act was almost up and B.I is still a no show.  
  
If the boy was expecting to have another grand entrance, then it would have been nice to get the memo.  
  
Of course he could always freestyle the parts B.I was missing for. But half his jitteriness came from excitement.  
  
He felt like a five year old with how hyper this made him.  
  
_A collab with B.I.  
  
_ He, of course, had every right to be.  
  
The poster at the door just stated _special guests_ as the last performance. No doubt to keep the attention low. Or low enough. It would hardly matter once they start.  
  
Bobby had wondered if B.I too had planned this all the way from China or if some manager did the arranging tonight. But that too didn't matter if this kid was a no show.  
  
Seriously, with Minho now out in the crowd and the current set now ending, Bobby legitimately considered finding a table to walk into.  
  
"Where the fuck are y—"  
  
" _Hello_ , Bobby."  
  
Something in Bobby snaps.  
  
"Cutting it close don't you think?" He bristles.  
  
When he turns, B.I is right there next to him looking for all world that he's been here the whole time.  
  
A small upwards quirk of B.I's lips appears, "did you miss me that much to nag?"  
  
He casts a cool once over glance at Bobby's attire, and for Bobby's sake he's already noted that B.I had retired that grey hoodie. Though he doesn't think the the lose white tee was any better.  
  
"I would have thought you'd want to go over things," Bobby admits.  
  
B.I doesn't reply to that. His focus now attuned to the lights that just blinked out, signalling that it was time for the artists to switch.  
  
Bobby's heart squeezes a bit. That jittery excitement surging again.    
  
He laughs a little chokingly, "you know there's no five second broadcast delay like on tv."  
  
B.I snorts, "it seems like you’ll need it more."  
  
"You wish," Bobby says a bit lamely, short on a better comeback. Admittedly he was too busy cataloging the humored sound from B.I to think of anything else.  
  
B.I starts to move up the stairs and Bobby goes to follow after. He's still looking down for feet placement in the dark when B.I stops short above him and just as suddenly turns and grips the back of Bobby's neck.  
  
The touch burns, like all the the nerves in his body just relocated to that one spot.  
  
In the dim of the stair lights he sees B.I lean in closer to him and Bobby's eyes momentarily drop to the smirking lips.  
  
When he looks back up those eyes are gleaning like a cat with its prey.  
  
"Just don't fuck up, okay?" And then he's back to ascending the stairs.  
  
"The fuck," Bobby breathes.

 

 

 

Their music drops before the lights return and just like that Bobby's brain flicks the switch.  
  
Everything outside of the moment falls away.  
  
He's encased in the sound, feels it thrum like a second heartbeat. And when those lights do come back on, and the crowd sees who it is who's standing on stage –  
  
That's all he needs to go full throttle.  
  
Bobby grins, feral and sharp as B.I takes the first verse. And seeing him rap right there in front of him, _again._  
  
It ignites every flight response in his body. For it was like witnessing a majestic predator. And here, in the underground where cages didn't exist Bobby wanted to keep him. Save the beast that could grow so brilliantly.  
  
"You don't like me? Oh? Is it because I'm short`?" B.I wheels towards Bobby and actually compares their heights, drawing a laugh from both him and the crowd.  
  
"No?" B.I smiles at him and then it's gone. "Is it because I curse? No! Oh, if only you were that shallow."  
  
The beat picks up.  
  
"There's too many of these phantom limbs. It's getting so bad that I think I might just be in aftershock. You think you're wise, but it's all the same unoriginal talk. Fuck you for trying to be my seongsaengnim."  
  
"Shit man, I'm already on a winning spree. Call me greedy, call me young. But I still got a lot left unsung. Yeah that's right, I saw what you put up online about me."  
  
"With the weight of five at my back. There's nothing for them that I won't achieve. Best be running fast before it's your time to grieve. ‘Cause we're moving out like a big ass wolf pack."  
  
B.I flashes his canines. And Bobby sees it, that spark of inhuman ability.  
  
Bobby had heard the guide voice on this track over and over, previewing this other male's lines and emotions. The intricate sounds he's memorized. But in person it was different. This was vengeful, intrusive, _devouring_.  
  
He's moving to the beat, feeling light headed and high. Like all that excitement transfixed itself into his blood and decided to defy gravity.  
  
It makes him nothing but a hyped blur across that stage. Spurring B.I on in supporting howls and shouts.  
  
And the volume of it all gets louder, and **_louder._  
  
** "You don't like me? Oh? Is it because my face's too small? No?" Those dark eyes turn to him and Bobby takes his turn.  
  
"Is it because I'm ugly?" Bobby's laugh crackles in the air, his voice a cooing tease. He takes a step in closer to B.I. "No. Oh, if only you were that shallow."  
  
He turns back to the crowd.  
  
"If you say my confidence is too bright then hurry up and get blinded. Cause I'm looking in the mirror, but I ain’t finding any flaws. When I bleed it sings. Even my sweat has a harmony. And that's just one difference between you and me."  
  
He can hear B.I equally freestyle the support to his lines at his side. One glance over and B.I has his arms raised. The floors in response quake at his instruction.  
  
"Oh, baby, don't get fooled in this fancy game of jealousy. One eye smile and bam` your girl's mine. Even your boys are already at my side. Just get a drink, take a gulp. Change the bulbs, your spotlight's gone."  
  
"But it's ok if you wanna take some of that anger out on me. Spend one night and I bet I can make you talk a little differently."  
  
He sweeps down to front line, extending a hand for them to squabble over.  
  
"Let’s do some yoga, leave some marks. In the morning we'll see if you wanna talk comfortably."  
  
He's back up.  
  
"You don't like me? Oh? Is it because I flirt? No? Is it because my teeth aren't straight? No! Oh, if only you were _that_ shallow."  
  
B.I's voice comes back like the rumble a freight train, darker than Bobby's ever heard and it sends heat right down his spine.  
  
"They call me tiger. But, I never claimed to be`. What's it to you if I act so beastly? Hitting all kills like some fucking pit _viper_."  
  
B.I's whole persona screamed murder. From the dark eyes that glared out to the blood on his hands, on his chin.  
  
Blood of his struggles, of his foes, and of friends given and lost to the industry.  
  
In dreams, Bobby would lick each finger clean. One at a time, slowly, surely. Right down to the knuckle.  
  
Bobby feels dangerous, a growl scars his throat, adding rasp to his sound as he fights back, "first I'm dirty. Then I'm sick. You be saying I'm no better than that mutt out on the street. But your nightmares ain't nothing without me."  
  
"Dog? Tiger? We both eat the same _meat_."  
  
"Huh, so what you don't like me?" Bobby barks. "Is it because I succeed? Oh? Is it because I'm up on top? Oh? Wait do I care? No!"  
  
Then, their voices together. _"Tell me again, tell me again."  
  
_ B.I scoffs, "you don't like me? Is it because I wear gucci? Oh? Is it because I'm making more than your sugar daddy? Oh? Wait do I care? No!"  
  
"I think you're just trying to piss me off. Get into a fighter's stance, cause I'm about to take my chance. Lighting this up like a fucking molotov."  
  
Bobby gestures between them, "to every witness of this mutineer," a glance to B.I. "And pioneer. Come close and bend the knee. We're about to be changing history.  
  
"You don't like _me_?" Together they pant.  
  
"Maybe it's ‘cause you actually love me?" B.I snips meeting Bobby's eyes last.  
  
And it's only then that Bobby sees just how close they're standing.  
  
He lets loose a breath just to see it disturb the strands of B.I's hair.  
  
_So close.  
  
_ His entire being feels drenched in gasoline. The smell of it on his tongue. One touch and B.I could burn them both.  
  
B.I swallows and it's the showiest thing. The wobble of that apple, the drop and return.  
  
Poison or not Bobby would bite it just to see how the black and blues would look on that skin. Again and again until the next sound was exclaimed in ecstasy.  
  
Oh, how he'd savour the taste of that on his tongue.  
  
The crowd screams. Bobby can hear _their_ names in the voices.  
  
B.I looks at him a little more alertly. A cock of his head. His lips, chapped and parted, are a faded blush of pink. A color so vividly saved for that of bare skin that’s been slapped a little too lightly, teasingly.  
  
The seconds were draining. The tension, a stringed web weaved throughout the room, was pulled taunt.  
  
_Waiting_. It was only the first of three songs.  
  
B.I brings up a hand up then, one finger coming to hither along the underside of Bobby's jaw.   
  
The world ignited. And so quietly, just for Bobby to hear.  
  
"Lets _fuck_ 'em."  
  
The next track starts and B.I's gone, back to facing the crowd. The space feeling like a lot more colder.  
  
Bobby's jumps forward making sure to keep that equatorial heat at his side.

 

* * *

* * *

 

Bobby isn't moving from his perch atop the speaker crate in the back hallway leading to the exit doors. Not for awhile at least.  
  
He knows there’s a couch in one of the dressing rooms but he had found this first.  
  
His feet swing, thunking against the hollow wood loudly. His breath has yet to return to him and he still has an eye smile plastered to his face.  
  
He felt alive.  
  
B.I leans against another crate across from him. Arms crossed and looking just as affected from the stage performance.  
  
The hall is busy with staff, but quiet enough to hear conversation.  
  
"Not rushing out?" Bobby leans back on his arms. "And no baby sitters?"  
  
B.I hums, a soft teasing sound, "oh, they're around but I'm all yours for now."  
  
Bobby licks his lips to keep them from drying. The air was cooler back here.  
  
"It must be too crowded to leave," Bobby guesses, not taking the bait. He remembers the horde that was waiting outside the doors for him the last time B.I left.  
  
"It's too crowded to leave," B.I agrees quietly.  
  
Seems that they're both more willing to wait most of the fans out.  
  
And then, "I think we should talk."  
  
Now it's Bobby's turn to hum, "you mean make a proposition."  
  
B.I smiles, but it's not from humor.  
  
"Not until you're ready."  
  
"And what makes you think I'm not?"  
  
"Cause I can see the smugness of your budding reply. Also," B.I traces the tip of his pointer finger over the arch of his own brow. His eyes moving along the same path on Bobby's face as if to copy what he sees.  
  
He does the same to the thin line of his lips, and lingers there slightly longer. Then he tucks his hand back into his arm crossed position.  
  
"Don't play poker Bobby, you have telltale signs."  
  
_Predator,_ Bobby remembers. Something about him was dangerous.  
  
"Then what do you want?"  
  
"Just to talk, but," B.I glances back to where the stage still calls them home to it.  
  
Bobby follows his gaze, landing on a few stagehands who move suddenly too quickly and yet aren't doing much of anything.  
  
The _not here_ goes left unsaid.  
  
Bobby continues to stare them down, his feet still hitting the crate, louder, more menacing.  
  
Then slowly he turns back to B.I. The gears already turning. It could work.  
  
He'd like to talk.  
  
"You hungry?" He asks and B.I's eyes light up.  
  
Bobby rolls his lips between his teeth, giving himself time to second guess but finally says, "I think know a place."

 

* * *

* * *

 

This was stupid.  
  
He had sounded so cocky and cool about it before, but by _"place"_ Bobby had actually meant an entirely _open to the public_ park bench by the underpass.  
  
He had picked it for familiarity. But they're entirely exposed to whomever might happen to pass by.  
  
Plus, it's actually a bit chilly out tonight.  
  
B.I won't meet him here. Any reasonable manager would instantly be like _"hell no"_.  
  
But here Bobby sits cradling a bulky folded over KFC bag under his jacket to keep the food warm.  
  
It's been an hour and a half at most since he left B.I at the venue.   
  
Once they had both agreed to the meeting, B.I handed over his phone, a worn pink one with battle scars around the edges and pastel stickers on its back. It was open to a text chat with someone nicknamed _Baymax_.  
  
And out of all of that, Bobby did his best to ignore the impossible amount of cat videos sent between them as he typed in the address and pressed send.  
  
Bobby muses. He has to bite his tongue when he hands it back, _there was a cut throat rapper under_ **_this._ ** A master of disguise. Or more simply, bipolar.  
  
Bobby left shortly after meeting up with Minho as they both slipped out the front to avoid the heavier lingering crowds circling the back waiting for B.I.  
  
_"So you're going on a date?" Minho prods, eating his own meal in the back seat of the cab.  
  
__"It's not a date," Bobby stresses.  
  
__The underpass was on the way to Minho's dorms so they'd split the cab fare.  
  
__Minho slowly chews on a fry, smirking all the while. "But you bought him food," he says lightly.  
  
__"We're just going to talk...and eat."  
  
__"So a date," Minho says again.  
  
__"It's not a date!"  
  
__Minho laughs at the scowl Bobby throws at him.  
  
__"So he's paying you back?  
  
__"I...no?" Bobby falters, he hadn't even discussed that with B.I. He had only asked the boy if he was hungry.  
  
__Minho hums at the same time Bobby makes an annoyed sound.  
  
__Luckily for them both, it wasn't much longer ‘til the cab stops at Bobby's destination.  
  
__He climbs out tossing back a vulgar gesture before closing the door on a laughing Minho and his "have fun on your_ **_date_** _."  
  
_ Bobby coughs, it wasn't a date.  
  
The park for his credit, however, is empty as he knows it would be. How it normally is at this time of night.  
  
All those times he needed fresh air and open spaces to clear his head late in the sleeping hours for others have not gone to waste on him.  
  
Various street lights line the walking paths, but the area still remains dark enough for them to remain nondescript. And the bench he scoped out was right at the edge of the playground without being too far from the street.  
  
So maybe it wasn't such a stupid idea after all.  
  
Headlights from a passing car sweep across the grass behind him and the shadows of the late night fold around his legs in their escape from the beams.  
  
The car, instead of continuing on, pulls into the shoulder of the road and parks.  
  
It's a small silver car, one similar to the one he drives his Aunt around in for errands and day trips.  
  
He watches closely as one its doors opens and a figure gets out and starts to walk closer to where he sits.  
  
_B.I_.  
  
Bobby stands to meet him.  
  
B.I's sneakers quietly squeak from the dew already starting to collect on the grass. His footprints being slow to raise back up behind him as he moves.  
  
Bobby frowns a bit, the boy must be dressed in over three layers of various pullovers and a long sleeve shirts.  
  
"I know it's not _that_ cold." Bobby says before he can stop himself.  
  
"To you," B.I says simply, adjusting the beanie atop his ahead before shoving his hand back into his front pocket.  
  
He comes to a stop in front of him, dark eyes wide and round.  
  
_Soft_ , Bobby's mind supplies.  
  
Bobby glances away toward the silver car still parked on the street. There was someone still sitting inside. Dimly, Bobby could make out the light of a phone screen.  
  
"So.." B.I says pulling Bobby's attention away.  
  
"So.." Bobby repeats with the same weight.  
  
"Food," B.I says staring at the bulge in his jacket and making the first initiative to plop down on the bench, folding a leg under himself.  
  
"Right," Bobby says as he mirrors the other boy and lays out their feast.  
  
Chicken. Fries. Mac and cheese. And lastly, to wash it down, soju and soda.  
  
B.I makes a delighted humming sound, "don't tell my manager that I'm eating this."  
  
B.I grabs for the soda. But it's been jostled more than they both expected and sprays when he starts to crack the lid.  
  
They both jump and B.I rushes to bring it to his lips. He smiles slightly around it while looking up at Bobby.  
  
His eyes are laced with mirth and Bobby tries to distract himself from staring at the way his plush lips warp over the edges of the can.  
  
"Sorry," B.I says after awhile with a giddy little burp.  
  
Bobby swallows. _Fuck.  
  
_ "Or Donghyuk. Like, seriously don't tell him," B.I says reaching out for a wing of fried chicken. Looking very much like he'd moan over it as he takes his first bite.  
  
"Why?" Bobby breathes.  
  
B.I shrugs a little, "he says he's on a diet and that apparently means the rest of us are now on it  too."  
  
"Support diets," Bobby smiles.  
  
B.I snorts, "Yeah something like that. But it's insane. Six almonds and an apple in the morning? Like, _fuck_ me."  
  
Bobby's mind chokes on that line, his eyes dart to B.I's face while his neck starts to heat. But the other male just continues on, attention already on what he should eat next.  
  
"Last week Yunhyeong made tteokbokki` with an enormous amount of cheese and fish cakes," B.I groans a bit. "The five us circled that shit like hyenas before Donghyuk came in and I don't think I ever saw him that mad before."  
  
He grabs for a few fries.  
  
"He made us get rid of it," B.I pauses to chew a bit more. Swallows and it’s a show again. "If you'd been there you would have cried too."  
  
B.I says it so lightly, _if you'd been there_ , as if he wasn't looking for Bobby to be ikon's seventh member. Talking as if Bobby knew his members, as if they were one in the same.  
  
Bobby picks up a soju bottle and takes to shoveling down the mac and cheese.  
  
"But why diet? You're all pretty skinny anyway."  
  
B.I chews a little slower, "yeah. But sometimes you're your own worst critic."  
  
The silent pause that follows feels ugly and Bobby doesn't like it. It was easy to forget that they were a year apart. That Bobby is his hyung.  
  
He scoops out another load of mac and cheese and holds it out in front of B.I's face.  
  
B.I looks up surprised.  
  
"Eat as much as you want," Bobby says lowly and delivers his spoon into an open mouth. "But telling me about that tiny ass diet won't help with persuading me to join ikon."  
  
B.I smiles around the spoon as Bobby pulls it out.  
  
"You're right," B.I admits lightly and then a little daringly. "But the YG kitchen's ahjummas might make up for it."  
  
Bobby cocks his head and returns to eating, "I dunno about that. My Aunt has pretty much spoiled me with the best homemade food."  
  
"And you bring me _KFC_?" B.I's smile broadens. A little teasingly.  
  
_Dangerous. Soft.  
  
_ "Ah, but then you'd never leave me alone." Bobby jokes. "And I already have one freeloader to deal with."  
  
He can hear Minho's appalled gasp at that.  
  
"I guess we'll just have to see about that," B.I challenges and goes for another chicken wing.  
  
"Already planning more secret food dates?" Bobby laughs.  
  
B.I huffs out a silent laugh as he meets Bobby's stare.  
  
And then bobby realizes what he just said. _Date_. He didn’t mean it like that. He didn't...it was just that B.I was implying a future, together, as friends.  
  
He got caught up in the moment.  
  
He clears his throat and takes a swig of the soju.  
  
"So tonight went well," he offers.  
  
"It went more than _well_ ," B.I says. "We work _well_ together, and tonight was great."  
  
"Then you'll do it again?" And something in Bobby's chest tightens. Say yes, he silently pleads.  
  
But B.I only takes a gulp of soda and that somehow makes Bobby's stomach drop.  
  
"I can't."  
  
It feels like a punch.  
  
_"You_ **_can't_ ** _?"_ Bobby hisses.  
  
B.I tosses the bones of the finished wing into the makeshift garbage bag they set out and doesn’t pick up another.  
  
The warmth in whatever mood they built with smiles and jokes drops back down to just the chill of the night.  
  
"It was fun," B.I starts and anger rises up in Bobby's system. "I want to work with you more Bobby. But doing collabs in the underground isn't a going to be a constant thing for me."  
  
**"Fun."** Bobby air quotes it. "That's all it was to you? Like some side project that you can forget?"  
  
"No." B.I looks him right in the eye, cold and stern. "You know that's not what I meant. You know I wouldn't do that to you."  
  
"I don't know you," Bobby laughs. "Honestly, from day one it all felt like a game and –"  
  
"I told you it wasn't," B.I's lips thin as he looks to mull over his next words.  
  
Bobby waits and B.I looks all the more pained for being forced to break that silence himself.  
  
"We wanted to see how you'd react to certain stressors," he says and he can't meet Bobby's eyes.  
  
"They," and B.I grimaces at the pronoun knowing how corporate implying it sounded. "They wanted to see how well you'd do under pressure."  
  
Bobby clicks his tongue and it draws B.I's attention back to him.  
  
" ** _I wanted_ ** to see how we'd work together," B.I's hands twitch like he might reach out but doesn’t. "Since day one. I didn't want to antagonize you, but it wasn't for me to decide how to...audition you."  
  
"All of this was an audition?" Bobby shakes his head, his memory flashing up every sighting of B.I's face in the crowd, the freestyle, the van ride, the first stage, the collab.  
  
It all comes at him at once, the magic in it now slightly tarnished. The food in his stomach gone rotten.  
  
B.I inches closer but the food still sits between them so it doesn't make a difference. But Bobby still leans further back.  
  
"You are an amazing rapper, Bobby." B.I says. "I hand picked you out of hours of watching countless others. And I fought for the chance to see you in –"  
  
"Shut the fuck up would you," Bobby snaps. "Are you trying to make me **_feel_ ** better? After just admitting I was a mouse in a maze for that company of yours?"  
  
Bobby huffs, "Like you're any better. You think you're in control of your path but you're not B.I. You're in a cage."  
  
"YG isn't a cage," B.I hisses.  
  
"You think that just because it’s plated in gold with some fucking–" Bobby waves a hand looking for more words. "I don't know – _decoupage_ shit that you're not being held back?"  
  
B.I mouths the word decoupage as if it humors him.  
  
Bobby glares.  
  
"Right, and what's so great out here?" B.I counters. "Is it really so different? We're both working in music. And you're mad at me? For what?!"  
  
Bobby makes a bitter sound, "it's just so _frustrating_. You don't even realize the potential you have _here_. The _freedom_ that it gives you."  
  
“Additionally, I can say whatever the fuck I want because my words belong to _me_. And I don't care if people like them or not." Bobby’s breath shakes, "but _you_ , you might write the words and get the credit but they're never truly _yours._ The company owns them, owns you."  
  
Bobby's hands ball into fists.  
  
All these bottled up feelings were finally exploding.  
  
"Do you even know who you are?" Bobby snaps. "When you're not writing for the company, who do you write for? I want more of you, like it was on _our_ stage. I want to hear more of that side of you. The real _you._ "  
  
"Bobby,” B.I says and it’s a trigger for Bobby’s body to tense. “Do you honestly think that I'm not frustrated too? Not just with the industry but with you _too_?"  
  
B.I's own hands clench at his knees, his eyes sharpening a glare at the food that's going to waste between them.  
  
"I want to change the way the music industry works.” B.I continues. “I want to broaden the image of what idols can be. And YG can provide me those resources."  
  
His lips thin, "adding a member, doing the underground stages, it's just the tip of the iceberg.”  
  
He looks up at Bobby, meeting his stare evenly.  
  
“There's so much that we're planning that you don't even know about."  
  
A buzzing silence goes between them.  
  
"Look," B.I reaches into his pocket. "I want you to listen to this. It's confidential and they don't know I'm giving this to you."  
  
He pulls out a flashdrive similar to one sitting at home on Bobby's desk, sent to him by the same hand holding this one.  
  
"It'll be our comeback song. It's new, it's different and I–"  
  
"No," Bobby says a little hoarsely.  
  
B.I's hand dips in the space between them at the same time his brows furrow.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
_Because I know I'll love it. That I'll say yes.  
  
_ "Because It doesn't matter," Bobby looks at his lap. "We want different things."  
  
B.I frowns, "you really do suck at lying."  
  
"But we _do_ , there's no compromise."  
  
"Freedom or not, moving to the underground would be a step down for me. And I'm speaking more than financially." B.I puts it down between them and then actually manages to pick up another piece of chicken and starts picking off some of the crunchier bits of breading to eat first.  
  
"But, joining ikon,” B.I says quietly, soothing his voice. ”Joining YG, it'd be a step up for you. The new thrills and experiences it'd give you."  
  
Bobby suddenly stands up. There's acid in his throat and he can't even bring himself to sort through the emotions spiraling all throughout his body.  
  
Anger. _Annoyance_. Disappointment. _Understanding._ Anxiousness. _Something else_.  
  
Something scarier to admit if he lost **this.  
  
** He can't stay here.   
  
B.I's eyes go wide and even though Bobby tries to avoid it the boy manages to catch his wrist as he passes and with a strength Bobby wasn't expecting brings him to a stop and tugs him back.  
  
B.I is standing up as well now.  
  
"All I'm asking for now is for you to listen to it. You don't have to commit to anything."  
  
"That's–" Bobby keeps swallowing but the acid keeps coming up and now his heart is fluttery. "That's not the problem here."  
  
“It’s not?”  
  
"No," and this time Bobby meets his eyes. Starless but warm, depthless but safe. "It's you. You and your fucking loyalty."  
  
The grip on his wrist tightens but he doesn’t stop and he doesn’t pull away.  
  
"We _killed_ it tonight and even last month when you appeared out of the dark." Bobby's voice cracks.  
  
Too much emotion. He was too worked up and abraded by the night to do this right now.  
  
"I mean… I don’t know man.” He looks to the sky. “I just don't see the fault in that. In performing with you again and again like _that_. Is that so wrong to want? To dream of?"   
  
"Of course not," B.I’s hand is cold but firm and his thumb presses into the softer, more vulnerable side of his wrist.  
  
His heartbeat.  
  
Bobby wonders if B.I can feel it. Count the rapid beats. He was exposed like this.  
  
"I want us to work together too,” B.I asserts. “But I want it on a much bigger scale. If you just understood what YG could offer you."  
  
Bobby shakes his head.  
  
"You say you want change, but in the end you'll still only worry about hit counts and downloads.”  
  
"That's not true," a breath. A plea.  
  
Bobby looks back. Those black orbs watch him carefully, searchingly.  
  
It tugs on a string in Bobby's body and he starts to unravel.  
  
If only B.I could imagine what he'd change in the underground. How he _already_ changed concepts and ideas about himself. About idols.  
  
Bobby wanted to share in that dream B.I shared. But at level where their range could be unhindered and free.  
  
Bobby was greedy. He knew it the day he saw B.I from the stage at the back of the room. A feeling that only kindled since that day he first laid eyes on him on that crappy tv.  
  
He wants B.I to stay here. Live in both ikon and here in his world.  
  
He wants more songs together. More inspiring beats and new ideas, and challenges.  
  
He wants it to just be them, drawing out the best in each other, commanding the stage and hearing the crowds scream their names.  
  
He wants what they just had over dinner, comradery and honesty.  
  
He wants to be friends. He wants to laugh and make B.I laugh and he wants... he wants him.  
  
_He_ _wants_ _B.I.  
  
_ And they were so physically close.  
  
_Dangerous,_ his mind says.  
  
"I.." Bobby flaters. His heart was pounding, his whole body suddenly feeling weak and swaying.  
  
He was swaying closer.  
  
How soft those lips would be to touch, to feel.  
  
"Bobby," it’s barely above a whisper.  
  
His name making those lips move so perfectly.  
  
And then it wasn't a matter of wondering anymore.  
  
Soft. They were soft and pliant and tender.  
  
_So tender.  
  
_ And they were against his.

 

 

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> asdfghjkl *initiates deep breathing exercises* 
> 
> First the sources:  
> You don't like me? Oh? Is it because I'm short? - Love Me // One eye smile and bam - Bling Bling // They call me tiger. But, I never claimed - based on Bobby's line in Come Here  
> Maeuntang : spicy fish soup  
> Tteokbokki` - spicy rice cakes
> 
> Ok and we're back to ASDFGHJKL. GUYS!! Congrats on making it through this chapter because it is the longest so far! SO THAT MEANS YOU CAN'T YELL AT ME FOR THAT CLIFFHANGER SINCE I GAVE YOU SO MUCH. Just kidding~ spazz and yell at me all you want because I am equally lossing my sht over this lmao. But more because I was so excited to hear from you guysssss
> 
> So huge huge shout outs to those of you leaving comments and support since the first chapter. I LOVE YOU LOTS. And those of you coming out of the shadows to say how much you love this work and how you never comment much or read ongoing fics asdfghjkl. I feel so honored?! Guys, you make me want to take the world and put it into words and gift it to you all ; A ; making my heart mushy like this. 
> 
> And as always cheers to my beta [Aby](http://shimco.tumblr.com/)who reads and edits and makes me laugh when we're all sleeping.
> 
> Find me on tumblr as well [ [x](http://coquettish-rap.tumblr.com/) ] where I sometimes play ask games for the fic and also update the Rap With Me playlist [ [x](http://coquettish-rap.tumblr.com/clap-for-me-baby) ] (which comes from my 300 song writing playlist for this - so srsly I hand pick stuff for each one ;; )
> 
> Ok again I'm talking too much lol ~ hope you loved the chapter. See you in two weeks ;)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me posting a day early~ hoho.  
> A new character is introduced. I wonder who it'll be?

Rain.

That's what wakes him up in the afternoon.

He's only half aware of it. That _tink, tink, tink,_ sound against the glass panes of his bedroom windows.

A constant knocking. A constant reminder that he doesn't actually want to be awake.

The room is a mess of scattered belongings and clothes, all drenched in the slate grey light that storms usually bring.

Alive but missing warmth, missing encouragement to do anything else but laze around.

He brings the covers over his head to escape it. Curling in on himself to cocoon the whole of his body inside the protective shell.

A second passes and then his arm pokes back out, searching… _searching…_ he should be right… about… _found_.

Bobby touches an arm or maybe a leg and pulls his bed partner into his enclosure with him.

It's too dark to see but he traces the lines of his body, over and over.

_Soft tummy, cold nose, round eyes._

He brings him under his chin in a steely hug.

"Pooh," he mumbles while his fingers circle the worn out spots on his plush friend.

It may be an old childhood toy to some. One that's long been malformed from years of cuddling and holding.

The poor thing missing fur in patches where Bobby has constantly touched, and when he was little had given Pooh a haircut with Dad's electric shaver.

To Bobby though, Pooh with his torn red shirt and all, was a comfort. Every repaired seam and unsightly marks of age, a proof of the love Bobby has given him over the years. And continues to give even though Pooh is more accustomed to sitting on his nightstand in fear for his fragility.

And unlike Minho, Pooh here didn't make snide comments or tease him. Which if Minho knew what had happened the other night, would do so to the extreme of his abilities.

And then _maybe_ console Bobby since he wasn't actually a complete asshole.

Bobby cuddles his tiny quiet friend in closer and turns his face into the mattress.

A disheartened groan.

It's been a full 24 hours since he saw B.I last. A full day since they— since _Bobby_ kissed _him._

There's just something in that knowledge that has his toes curling. Has him repeating the line.

He. Kissed. B.I. — _He_ kissed _B.I. —_ He _kissed_ B.I. — **HE KISSED B.I.**

And he can repeat it in a multitude of other ways too.

Yet still, the words fail to clearly capture all the emotion that goes with it.

When it had happened initially it had been just pure shock. But now there's something thrilling to it.

 _It had happened_.

That’s the only thought in his head. The only thing he's been obsessed with since. And sure, he might be spending his whole weekend hiding from the world because of it, but that doesn't mean he wants to _forget_ it.

No, it’s the contrary.

The memory is still so vivid in his mind. Whether his eyes were open or closed it mattered not because his lips still recall the pressing of that soft heat against his lips. And where B.I's hand had held him around his wrist, Bobby swears he can feel it still. Like a phantom cuff has been locked and soldered on to him.

 _He had kissed B.I,_ he tells himself again.

 

 

 _Fuck._  

_He's was kissing B.I._

_His heart is pounding_ **_so_ ** _fast, he could feel every swell of it inside his chest. Just one beat away from puncturing on the tip of his ribs where it'll pop like an over-inflated balloon._

_Where all that blood was being pumped too, he doesn't know. His head was light and he’s unsteady, his body only willing to fall into the other._

_But he was right._

_B.I's lips are soft,_ **_so soft._ ** _Like that of swimming velvet or clouds of wool. And a texture, they were slightly chapped and not completely smooth._

_Bobby didn't have a reference for that in his mind yet, but as long as they were against his it didn't matter. He had the infinity of this second and the rest of life to think of it._

_But the tenderness they yield surprises him. He wants more, wants to see how deep that tenderness goes._

_An impulse. The way he moves against them, the way he gets one between his own and licks.  Drawing it in further in between his teeth and bites, softly. Not to hurt, just to try._

_But it's enough to jar the moment._

_B.I gasps, and it's only then that Bobby realizes what's he's done._

**_He is kissing B.I._ **

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

_He wrenches himself backwards his feet failing to move him gracefully but B.I’s death grip on his wrist tugs him forward and it’s enough to balance him._

_And then in the moment, he looks into B.I's eyes, Bobby knows his heart has been punctured. He knows because it hurts._

_B.I's eyes are wider than even that of a frightened doe and they're the widest Bobby has ever seen them._

**_Fuck._ **

_Did B.I even_ **_want_ ** _this?_

_Oh fuck. What did Bobby just do._

_He can still feel where their lips had touched. They've gone cold from the night's crispness but it’s a chill that goes deeper than the skin,_

_He runs a tongue over them to sooth the feeling and instead only manages to pick up a taste that's not his own._

_It jolts him and it makes him greedy. He keeps tracing back and forth over them hoping for more, but it's gone and no matter how many times he warms his lips the chill remains. A reminder that another set was missing._

**_Again_ ** _, a voice says in the back of his head. And then a little louder over all the confusion._ **_Kiss him again._ **

_Bobby shakes his head but, his body sways and his eyes are staring at what he wants back._

_B.I. swallows, that crook in his throat bobbing and something catches in Bobby's as well._

_Soft wool and… and peanut brittle? What would explain that texture? It annoys him even now when B.I’s lips are looking to be about to speak. And simply Bobby waits for the words about to be spoken. For the hold on his wrist to go slack. But all he feels is a sway in their gravity, as if B.I too needed a tether to stay standing._

**_"Hey!"_ **

_The moment cracks, ugly and unmendable._  

_They both spin towards the voice and find the manager stepping around the car and coming to a halt._

_Everything about him is still in the shadows, but he knows something happened. Knows and is making sure it's okay, that it's under control._

_Something lurches in Bobby and it's not ok. He can't stay here._

_He kissed B.I. And he did so out in the_ **_open_** _._

**_Stupid, stupid, stupid._ **

_"I-" Bobby forces his words to work even though there weren't any left in him. "I have to go."_

_It's rasp and they hurt coming up his throat._

_B.I spins back to him, but the surprise of the manager was enough of a distraction to weaken B.I's death grip on him and Bobby breaks from it completely._

_"Bobby," B.I whispers, his voice with an equal roughness. "It's –"_

_"I have to go," Bobby says again. He's holding his wrist against his chest like it’s been injured._

_He severed himself from B.I and now he was bleeding. Bleeding, and raw, and he just can't fucking_ **_deal_ ** _with this right now._

**_He kissed B.I._ **

**_Fuck._ **

_This was different than the fantasies in his dreams. This was something else, something more..._

_Fuck._

_He's moving._

_"Bobby!" B.I wants him to stop._

_No. He's already leaving. That flight sensation an overwhelming flood in his veins._

_He takes another step backwards evading the swing of B.I's arm and just_ **_leaves._ ** _His feet picking up the pace the further he gets._

_"Bobby! Wait!"_

_But he's already gone._

_It's the other reason why he picked the underpass. It’s home turf. He knew these streets and he knew the quickest way to get back home._

He just didn't know that by leaving it had caused a piece of him to be left behind. A part of him that he didn't even know could be taken away from him.

Yet here he is. A victim of B.I's unintended theft.

He couldn't write or form lines. And even in reading ones he already made from days before had stirred nothing.

His words were missing. His flow too.

It just wasn't there. All his music. All his worth. Just _gone_.

He had lost the very core of himself.

 

 

Bobby plays with the fold of Pooh's ear, flipping it back and forth.

He needs to fix this. But it was so much easier to be a bed hermit with Pooh.

Plus, it's _raining_. Who in their right mind is productive on rainy days?

Minho is. But that's beside the point.

Bobby couldn't very well stand outside the YG building with a bucket of fried chicken waiting to offer up an apology.

But, just _maybe_ if he _did_ one of the junk food deprived ikon members would find him.

 _“Not if security chases you away first,”_ he rations in his friend's voice. _"Also, scents don't carry well in the rain."_

Bobby makes a frustrated sound. Even the Minho in his head was insufferable.

But it was certain that he couldn't very well stay here avoiding his problems.

Bobby ran because he panicked.

 _I kissed B.I,_ his mind whispers but he swats it away before the loop of the memory restarts.

He ran, but it doesn't mean he's a runner.

His finger moves to circling one of Pooh's eyes. There’s a chip in the small plastic from when he had jumped off the swings in his childhood. And Pooh, who was supposed to stay in his pocket, went flying out onto the pavement.

Bobby counts the times his finger runs past that grove.

Maybe it's time to call Minho. Especially since the male had probably sent a few dozen texts by now to check in on him.

Not that Bobby has seen them. His phone's been dead since yesterday morning and misplaced somewhere in the apartment.

He gets up to 40 something in counting before laying out his day.

Get up. Find his phone. Charge it. Take a shower. Get dressed. Eat. And tell Minho to hold off on writing his obituary.

Unless he already did. Then Bobby would like to hear it. For prosperity sake.

Ok, he can do this.

He repeats the plan. Totally doable.

A minute passes. Then another and maybe five more and then it seems even Pooh is judging him.

Ok, starting now. He _can_ do this.

He flips the covers off.

 

* * *

* * *

 

Bobby shuffles his fingers through his hair, shaking and rearranging it until it's somewhat presentable and not dripping wet. 

It hangs down in black waves and he swings it out of his eyes one last time before leaving the humid heat of the bathroom.

So… finding his phone proved harder than he originally thought.

He ticks off the places he's already looked in his apartment before he skipped them in favor of taking a shower. But just to be sure searches through them again.

First his bedroom and then the sitting room and then the kitchen. And then circles back for the third time today.

He stops, arms crossed and stares down at Pooh who sits slouched over on his pillow.

 _Food,_ his stomach growls. Right, he'll search again after he eats.

 

 

He finds his phone under a container of roasted sweet potatoes in the refrigerator. He must have put it in there when his Aunt gave him the food after last night's shift.

He pops the potatoes into the microwave and works his cold phone between his hands to warm it.

He's just gotten it on the charger and is moving to pull out the steaming food when a knock on the door echos through the apartment.

He ignores it. If it was his Aunt or Minho, then they both know the passcode and would come right in.

Bobby closes the microwave door. The knock comes again, but now he's holding a hot container with nowhere to put it down.

He eyes the kitchen table and the counters and it’s just junk, more junk, and stuff his aunt is storing up here.

He whines a little as his fingers start to burn.

The knocking comes again, a bit heavier, and Bobby spins in a circle a few times looking for a solution.

He ends up grabbing a dish towel off the sink and wraps his one hand in it and darts for the door.

It must be one of the part-timers. Maybe looking for something or asking for him to take their shift.

The knock sounds off again and Bobby snaps back at it.

_“I heard you."_

He swings the door open and balances the container of sweet potatoes in his right hand. He can still feel the heat of it seep through the towel.

He's met with someone impossibly made out clothes. Wet from the rain and dripping onto the landing.

A hood was up over the face and under that, a white face mask covers the nose and mouth.

"Um.." Bobby starts off and doesn't finish.

_Hood, snapback, facemask._

He'd think he'd recognize the person if maybe they showed some skin. There wasn't a way to get up here without going through the kitchen of the restaurant and that's _if_ one gets past his Aunt.

But they're clearly not a part-timer.

Bobby reevaluates.

 _Oversized hoodie with plaid cuffs hanging out from the sleeves, the rain jacket over that,_ and all designer label.

Bobby's heart skips a beat.

An arm raises up and twists until a hand escapes from the loose bunches of fabric.

And it's a hand he'd recognize anywhere.

He stares transfixed as it moves to up under the hood and pulls down the face mask to sit under his chin. The reveal of that broad nose followed by peony pink lips snatches Bobby's breath.

 _I kissed those lips,_ Bobby thinks and all of _that_ night hits him, and it feels as though his body is falling even though he is standing impossibly still.

The hand moves again to push the hood back and there he is, wide all-seeing eyes and a quirk to his mouth.

 _Hello Bobby_ , the air seems to whisper and Bobby desperately tries to capture it.

B.I's eyes slide to his hand.

"That smells good."

Bobby's trance breaks, " _what_?"

B.I points and Bobby realizes he means the sweet potatoes. They're glazed and have a cloying honey and ginger scent.

They're both staring at the food now. Bobby's hand still in discomfort from the heat.

And it's then that his cellphone comes back to life. The multitude of notification sounds tripping over each other in an on-going assault.

"Someone's popular," B.I says after a full minute of it proceeds by.

"It's just my friend," Bobby whispers. The sounds from the kitchen still coming.

"A very concerned friend then," B.I says and something about that line makes Bobby feel seen.

 _He knows,_ Bobby thinks. _B.I knows he's been holed up in his apartment all weekend._

"He's more of an annoyance really," Bobby says and alarmingly his lips pull upwards.

 _A smile_. He made _a joke_ and he's _smiling_.

B.I smiles back and it has a tidal wave effect on Bobby's breathing. 

"I'd like to be invited in," B.I says softly.

The heavy beat of Bobby's heart knocks some sense into him and a flooding of language blooms so suddenly on his tongue.

The essence that was missing from him was slipping back to him.

He needed the time to sort all those letters and meanings out but had not even a second to do so. And instead of lacking the words, he now had an abundance.

So he spoke not because they were missing, but because he couldn't decide on which would suit him best.

"Yes," he ends up saying. Just Simple consent.  

And then, without a flourish, he takes a step back and allows B.I to slip in.

 

 

Bobby sets them up in the sitting room. Obviously, the kitchen was out of the question, so was his bedroom for more than a few other obvious reasons. 

But it's not an inconvenience, appreciatively, the sitting room was the one room of the apartment that he actually tried to keep clean.

So it's there that they sit cross-legged on the floor with the low wood table spanning between them. Each with a sweet potato in hand and picking roasted chunks of goodness out and into their mouths.

B.I's wet jackets and hat drape over the couch beside them. The rising heat from the working restaurant kitchen below, enough of a comfort to make him self-wantonly disrobe a few of his layers.

"I can't believe you left me to clean up our crime scene," B.I says a bit off handly.

And at first, Bobby thought B.I was referring to the kiss but, _crime scene_?

The _chicken_ , Bobby realizes. He chokes back a cough of a laugh and B.I shoots him a crossed expression.

"I thought I could trust you," B.I says with enough malice to sound genuine. But Bobby can see the glint of the tease in his eyes and the slow feline smile about to rise.

"Sorry," he says and tosses B.I one of his most charming eye smiles.

He doesn't miss the linger of B.I’s stare or the way his mouth parts just slightly to draw in a breath before his eyes shoot back down to the table.

"You should be," he mumbles and they fall back into a heavy silence.

The next question was right there between them. Bobby can feel it like a cat rubbing up against his legs. A purring presence begging to be addressed.

B.I had broken the ice, but seemed no more inclined than Bobby to advance further than that.

"I watched you in China," Bobby says a bit too loudly as if to scare away thoughts of anything else.

B.I looks unprepared for that but grabs for the change of topic all the same.

"Oh?" And his tone drips with finesse. "What did you think?"

Bobby stares at him as B.I keeps eye contact while managing to peel and eat another chunk of sweet potato.

And maybe just to see his expression falter Bobby makes a remark quite mischievous in its nature.

"You look good in a suit."

Which is all around true even if Bobby didn't bring up the dreams of what he envisioned with just B.I's suit tie alone.

 _Dangerous_ , his conscious purrs quite fondly.

B.I goes into a fit of coughing, having swallowed wrong and Bobby merely inches a glass of water closer to him.

He drinks it gladly and when he looks back up there's tears welling up at the corners of his eyes.

Bobby smiles.

"So you like suit concepts," B.I says a bit gruffly and it's a sound Bobby stores for use at a less inappropriate time.

"Who doesn't?"

B.I visibly swallows with a disgruntled sound.

"They're a pain to dance in," he comments, his voice returning to its normal level before dropping to add in, "and they rip easily."

Bobby's whole body feels the hit of that last line. From the curl of his toes, the heat in his gut, to the flutter of his heart and the electricity in his fingertips.

 _Dangerous_ , and this time it sounds more like a viper's hiss.

Flirting, he thinks. They were _flirting_ and suddenly the prospects of his bedroom didn't feel so off limits.

But Bobby misses the reasonable moment to make a second remark and the air goes flat once again. And this time he doesn't think he can avoid it. That question.

It goes so quiet, like everything was waiting.

In the kitchen, the faucet drips like the tick of a clock's hand.

D _rip, drip, drip…_

_1 second, 2 seconds, 3 seconds…_

Bobby's leg starts to bounce under the table and it makes the water swish in their glasses.

Bobby notices and stops, only to start back up. And in a cycle, he goes.

"Why.."

Even in the silence Bobby hardly hears it.

B.I must realize he spoke too softly too for he stops himself and for another few seconds they only pick absent mindedly at the food.

"Why did you leave?" This time his voice is louder, but rough like B.I had to fight his throat to say it, for his lips to speak it.

And maybe unsure, like he worried over what the answer would be.

Bobby can't look back up or else he'd default to just seeing those lips. Soft and supple and probably tasting of honey and herbs.

"I don't know," Bobby confesses. Or maybe he did know but such a thing couldn't be said so suddenly. And yet still he feels B.I should know.

They look up at the same time.

_Drip, drip, the faucet sounds off._

They look away.

The air feels like a bubble in his throat and something tightens in Bobby's chest. An invisible band constricted around his lungs, around his heart.

It hurts.

"I shouldn't," and B.I's voice is back to being so soft spoken. His brow furrows and he shakes his head.

"It's just hard for me to..." He stops again and Bobby has to put a hand down on his own leg to stop it from shaking. Even the far-off drip in the kitchen sink threatens to drown out the words.

B.I gathers a breath, "it takes a lot for people to _like_ someone like me."

His voice catches as if he switched out a word for another last minute.

"And it's been awhile since.." his fingers move minutely, _this._

B.I falls silent again and that band pulls so tightly on Bobby that it becomes a taut cord between them. One strum away from snapping.

Bobby feels his arms start to shake as his legs push against his hold.

B.I still doesn't look up but Bobby's full attention is on him.

_Drip._

"But–" B.I looks up and Bobby can tell that his words were failing him. That the lack of light in his eyes was something of vulnerability.

 _This_ , the air supplies. _You,_ his mind translates.

B.I holds eye contact as he swallows and that damn band pulls so greatly that Bobby rises to his knees in fear that it was about to painfully lash back at them like a rubber band.

_Drip._

He was sure this time. But still, the table rattles under his shaky weight.

It's instinct. It's lack of thought. It's a need to console.

_You are not hard to love._

It's the scoffing against the table from him sliding a glass out of the way. _So loud._

It's his hands going flat on the surface as he leans over.

It's B.I's hands curling into fists and mouth parting and eyes going as wide as a baby doe's.

It’s their stares connected, scared to break, scared to look away in case a second moves too fast.

 _Drip, drip,_ the faucet times out but just barely heard.

Bobby lowers himself and it becomes just that lack of space between them.

A breath. A pause.

And then it's their eyes closing and it's B.I's lips leaning in to meet his.

 _Soft_.

It's flower petals and honey touched sweetness.

They move back, a nectarous sound of wet air echoing between them.

And then it's B.I returning for a second kiss. Just a press of their lips. And then a third, and a fourth, and _beckoning_ him.

That band slackens and Bobby's heart beats so freely that he sways and comes back tenfold.

He gets a hold of B.I's hair and grips.

Now that he has him he wasn't going to lose him.

He feels the shift in their height as B.I rises to his knees to meet him and Bobby gets pushed back.

And maybe if he wasn't so focused on what B.I's tongue was doing he would have heard the scrape of dishes being moved aside. Or the groan of the table under another added weight.

Because by the time he does, B.I is impossibly taller and Bobby is falling back to sit on his heels.

Bobby breaks to look, _"how–."_

He glimpses B.I's knees on the table, blue denim pulled taut over slim legs. Cords of muscle peeking through.

Bobby itches to touch, his stare lingering there before it’s turned away. His jaw snatched by a smooth hand and made to look up at the absorbing blackness of those eyes.

And he could just make it out. The darkest of browns lining the widening pupil within.

Stars and planets were lost to such things. And now so too was Bobby.

 

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

 _"Bobby," a whisper._  

_Bobby stirs but the hold of sleep is still too strong. It's impossible to tell if he's just dreaming. But the voice keeps talking and says nothing remotely sexual. So he supposes if it was a dream it wasn't a very good one._

_"It's really early, sleep." the voice urges. "But I have to leave for a schedule. And then I'll be back and forth to Japan for the week."_

_Bobby incoherently mumbles something and gets a kiss on his temple for it._

_He just barely has the capacity to register the loss of someone against him as anything but being cold. But is comforted slightly when a softness comes to drape over him and ever so gently gets tucked over his shoulder._

_Warmth caresses his cheek and Bobby slips back to sleep before the goodbye is spoken._

 

 

Bobby always seems to remember that sleeping on the couch isn't the most ideal location the morning directly after. 

His neck protests the weight of his head. His legs cry to be stretched. And he's just tired.

The couch is however, the perfect spot for makeouts. Which is in fact what he and B.I did most of the evening into the night.

His heart flutters like that of a first-year virgin schoolboy and not of an experienced 23-year-old.

But it's just enough to make him forget the soreness in his body.

 _I kissed B.I,_ ** _again_** _._ Bobby thinks. **_And_** **_B.I kissed me._**

The memories that linger in his head are anything but sobering.

He recalls being straddled and kissed until their lips were red and still it did not stop them.

He remembers losing his shirt to wandering hands and the feel of those fingers pressing in on his abs.

And when Bobby had asked if he wanted to see them better, B.I's **“yes”** drove him into doing sets of crunches like some madman until the lines and ridges of his muscles defined themselves.

From then on B.I had hands, and when he could, even had his eyes on them the rest of the night.

And then the hours struck late and eventually it was just their clothed bodies against each other, lazy and speaking of nothing in particular, they fell asleep.

And in the morning when everything was quiet and asleep and the sun was still long to arise B.I had slipped out from between his arms and left.

Bobby distantly feels the warmth of that hand on his cheek. The fingers of a lover combing through his hair.

And even though the other might be gone, traces of B.I were left to linger here and there. And just maybe Bobby could encapsulate them so they never faded.

From the disarray of the rug now askewed on the floor where B.I had pushed him down and kissed him into incoherence. To the dishes and scraps of food still left on the table. And next to that the red album box of ikon's album.

 _The red album box of_ _ikon's album._

Bobby suddenly sits up. He doesn't remember that.

He knows he has one. He bought it on the first day of release and every so often reads through the lyrics on the nights he can't sleep. But he doesn't remember pulling it out from his _nightstand_ in his _bedroom_. And certainly not presenting it to B.I like some in love fanboy.

And yet he has no doubt that this was his copy.

His heart squeezes.

B.I certainly was a sly and dangerous beast. One that Bobby had so willingly let enter his home.

He reaches out for it. Hands shaking from his own excitement and manages to slip the cover off.

A piece of paper slips out and Bobby catches it even though his eyes have landed on the ink now marking the glossy first page.

 _Made this a little more valuable,_ it says and beneath that is B.I's wide loop and curl of a signature.

But it's what’s on the note that gets him standing. The blanket falls to the floor and he trips over it as he moves.

_Check your phone._

It's still in the kitchen on the charger and It lights up as soon as he touches it.

A text from Minho.

He ignores it and the rest of the texts and missed calls from Minho and others as his attention snaggs on one in particular from this morning.

A single kakao talk message from an unknown contact.

And it's him. Bobby recognizes the icon from that night before when B.I lent him his phone. And the message sitting there, a solitary presence on the screen confirmed it.

 

_4:25AM: hello bobby_

 

Bobby doesn't know what to reply with even though he accepts the friend request.

He just stares at that message for a while before finally sending a reply.

 _"Did you enjoy going through my stuff?"_  

He doesn't think the reply would be instantaneous, but it almost is. As if B.I had been waiting.

_8:43AM: i did_

_8:43AM: also i used your toothbrush_

_8:44AM: figured that after last night you wouldn't mind_

A wink emoji pops up underneath that.

Bobby shakes his head, a smile tugging at his lips.

He keeps second guessing the replies he wants to send back. He's happy and doesn't know how to express that and still stay so collected.

 _"Actually,"_ he types. _"I do mind."_

And then adds on, _"I expect a souvenir when you return for the trouble of me replacing my B.I contaminated toothbrush."_

And, _"nothing less than 6,000 yen."_

Bobby laughs at the shocked emoji B.I sends him. But is unprepared for the next message.

_8:47AM: you can't replace everything of yours that i put into my mouth_

_8:47AM: it'd be a waste of what your parents gave you_

Bobby actually blushes.

So B.I was going to play like that.

 _"I can make exceptions,"_ he sends back.

_8:49AM: good boy_

Bobby swallows thickly. He can feel the lighthearted appraisal like a purr against his ear or a kiss to his forehead.

 **What** _exactly_ was he getting himself into?

_8:54AM: we're boarding now, i'll talk to you later_

_8:54AM: enjoy the indirect kiss_

_"Try not to miss me too much."_

_8:55AM: too late_

And for the second time that morning Bobby's face heats up.

 

* * *

* * *

 

~~**B O N U S**~~

 

"I can hardly call it staying the night," Bobby says into his phone. "And we didn't do anything." 

Minho's voice blares out of the speaker and Bobby leans away from the loudness of it.

His friend right now was both getting over his annoyance of Bobby disappearing for a weekend. But was also just a little too hyped up on the _news_ Bobby had just informed him of.

Most of the conversation from Minho's side consisted of a lot of _"dude, seriously i can't"_ and simple repetitions of _"oh my god"_.

Which Bobby could only laugh at being that he understood the feelings all a little too well.

And he hadn’t even dropped the bigger bombshell about now having B.I's number. And yet he could hear the expected shrill of _"YOU WHAT?"_ coming from his friend.

Bobby rests the phone against his ear again when Minho gets back to normal decibels. Holding it there with his shoulder as he starts to pick up the scattered clothes on the floor of his room.

He had to do the laundry before meeting his aunt downstairs for work.

He thinks he's gotten enough for one load when he stands back up and something catches his eye.

Bobby comes to a standstill for who knows how long. But his breath becomes a lump in his throat and his heart ricochets all over his chest.

 _"Bobby,"_ Minho's voice breaks through. _"You ok?"_

"Yeah," Bobby breathes. "I'll call you back."

 _"What?_ Minho's voice rises up. _"But you didn't finish telling me everything!"_

_"Bobby!"_

Bobby hangs up and the clothes he holds against him fall back to the floor.

He steps over them and closer to his bed and wonders how he didn’t see it before.

It's been made, but not by him.

Bobby's heart swells so fucking much that he loses his breath again.

 _Soft,_ his mind coos. _Soft and sweet._

He takes a moment to take in what he's seeing. Another to fully comprehend the emotion that just bursted through him.

The sheets had been patted down nicely and right at the head of his bed — laying down against his pillow with the covers tucked to his chin… — was Pooh.

_B.I had tucked his cherished Pooh bear in._

And that meant the world to him.

 

 

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOFT RAPPER BABIES ♥ ♥ well a lot of things happened here, even though it doesn't feel like much happened. But it did, trust me o-o (Hanbin on the table might be my favorite though – and pooh~)
> 
> I hope everyone enjoyed~ was the cliffhanger last chapter worth the wait? I read that some of you wanted to choke me?! Haha, honestly I've never felt so honored ♥ I made up for it. 
> 
> Many thanks to my beta [Aby](http://shimco.tumblr.com/), who warned me that you guys would punch me and that she would let it happen. 
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](http://coquettish-rap.tumblr.com/) or listen to the [playlist](http://coquettish-rap.tumblr.com/clap-for-me-baby).


	7. Chapter 7

For all the selcas Bobby sends B.I, he's only gotten one in return.

And it was horrible. As in genuinely _not_ good.

Which, Bobby has no qualms with bad self-picture taking. It just surprises him when it's B.I who's bad at taking them.

Because how does a handsome pop star that shoots for name brand fashion houses, records commercials, does music videos, poses for album concepts, performs in front of cameras, _AND_ manages to get voted into the top ten of _“boy group flower boys”_ , take bad selcas?

It just doesn't make sense. Doesn't that knowledge of angles and lighting and something or other get drilled in?

But, apparently not, and that revelation opens up another quirk to B.I. Because it seems B.I's favorite thing to advertently do is to prove every single one of Bobby's preconceived notions wrong.

Or he was just fucking with him. B.I likes to do that a lot too.

 _20:45PM: i can't take selcas_ , B.I messages after that obvious bombshell.

_20:45PM: but here's what i ate for dinner_

And up appears a picture of Japanese ramen with boiled eggs and seaweed and those cute wedges with pink spirals.

 _"That looks better than your face,"_ Bobby teases.

B.I sends his letters of laughter.

_20:47PM: i'm sure you'd eat it just the same_

Bobby smirks, _"yeah, but the ramen won't moan as nicely as you do."_

He hesitates over the send button, second-guessing, staring at the blinking line next to his words.

Maybe it's still too much.

It's been four days of them just texting, sometimes flirtatious in nature, and sending pictures. Which are quite rarely flirtatious – despite Bobby's attempts. And that may have to do with how he’s mentioned, quite naively, that he's never been outside Korea.

There was no going back after that. The floodgates had already opened.

So what started out as simple small talk a few minutes here or there a day turned into a reason for B.I take up photojournalism. And that made their texting an every hour thing.

Well, minus the ones where they were busy. Bobby couldn't text while busing the tables or he'd never hear the end of it from his Aunt. Also, B.I disappeared for long hours consecutively through the day for practices and performances.

Bobby saw _those_ pictures online from the fans.

But everything else was from B.I. The food, the "fancy" toilets, the blurry snaps of passing landmarks seen from a car window. And that one selfie he sent in reply to the few Bobby sent him.

And late at night when B.I says he can't sleep they would go into deeper thoughts. Or more accurately, B.I would say some shit like _"life is just all about the pain you endure"_. To which Bobby goes _"it's just a fucking papercut."_

But they'd continue on from there.

Endless, that's what they were. And if there was an end to come when they had nothing to say, then they would talk about how they had nothing to say and thus lay out the map for a new endless travel.

Bobby hits send.

 _20:53PM: no, it certainly won't,_ B.I also sends a wink.

_20:54PM: guess you'll just have settle for my face then_

_"At least you'll last longer than the ramen."_

_20:57PM: but i could finish you in less_

Bobby sucks in a breath. _Someone is confident_ , he muses.

 _"Sounds like a challenge,"_ he sends.

It's marked as received and he stares waiting for the reply.

**_"YO. EARTH TO FUCKING KIM BOBBY."_ **

Bobby snaps his head up.

Minho gives him an annoyed _seriously_? expression as someone scoffs from somewhere behind them.

Bobby turns toward it, but immediately dips his eyes when he spots a young mother casting them both a glare as her child pulls carrots off the stand.

He looks back to Minho who bows apologetically. A few potatoes fall out from between his arms as he does so.

He bends to pick them up but instead more start to topple from his grasp and it starts to look more like a comedy routine as he tries to hold on to them and keep others from rolling away.

"A _little_ help here?" He hisses up at Bobby.

Bobby looks over at his friend from his perch on the shopping cart handlebar. The soft sounds of the late night at the supermarket disturbed now by darting thunks of potatoes and Minho's grunting.

"Why did you have so many, to begin with?"

Minho finally just stops trying and hugs the ones he does save closely against his chest. He looks up at Bobby as if it was obvious what he was doing.

"These are on the list of things to get for your Aunt."

It takes a second to remember why exactly they were out at the store but once it clicks Bobby fights to hide the smile that wants to break out across his face.

"Oh," he says failing to cover up the humor in his tone. "No, we don't buy the food here."

He can see Minho slowly deflate which every word.

"There's an Ahjumma down at the market that we purchase in bulk from. We'll stop there on the way home,"

Minho hangs his head, "then _what_ **_are_ ** we getting here?"

Bobby pulls the list out of his back pocket and reads through his Aunt's handwriting.

"Just cleaning supplies and napkins."

There's a long silence that Bobby's amusement threatens to break.

Eventually, Minho just sighs, "Bobby, pick up the _bleeping_ potatoes before I toss one your head."

"I thought I told you!" But he squats down to help with the mess.

"When?" Minho snatches up another potato. "You've just been all heart eyes with your phone the whole time I was talking to you.

"Hyung," Bobby soothes.

"I have school work to finish," Minho rants on as he dumps the potatoes back onto the stand. "But no, I'm here calling your name repeatedly while you smile like a doofus. Looking all glowy and happy and some shit."

"Are you mad that I'm happy?" Bobby laughs with the tease.

"No!" Minho claps his hands together when he finishes and stands straight. "I'm ticked that you won't share what _he's_ texting you about."

Minho actually pouts.

"It's nothing like that," Bobby dumps the last of the potato escapees back into their places and stands in front of Minho. "He just shows me pictures of food and stuff, and sometimes cats."

Minho cocks his head.

"And today we may have," Bobby shrugs as he looks up away from Minho's face, " _flirted_ over ramen."

A smile cracks the line of his lips despite himself.

"You sexted about _ramen_." Minho deadpans like he isn't even surprised.

Bobby actually chokes on the bluntness of it.

"Hyung," he wheezes.

" _Ramen_ ," Minho repeats while he walks away with the cart. "I can't even...you two are just something else."

 Bobby catches up to walk beside him and nearly plows right into Minho's back as the latter stops short.

"What?" Bobby rounds his friend to see his face.

Minho cocks a mischievous smile that says Bobby is in for a treat.

"What..." Bobby says a little more slowly.

"Nothing," Minho says and continues to walk. "Just that you two are so **_ramen_ ** _tic_."

Bobby snorts, "I can't believe you went for that. _Udon_ even know how corny it sounds."

Minho raises his brows in a playful _good one_ expression and it cracks them both up.

 

There's more traffic than expected on the drive to the university dorms. And Bobby has seemingly been able to pull off hitting all the red lights.

Their haul for the night jostles around in the trunk as Bobby rolls to another stop. Bags of potatoes plunk together and the liquid cleaners swish against their containers.

"I can just catch the next train," Minho offers.

The car fills with colored brake lights from the surrounding cars. Shadows sliding past them in irregular waves as the other cars drive past.

"It's fine," Bobby hums adjusting the vents on the dashboard. "I'll get kudos with my Aunt for dropping you off safe and sound."

The breath of silence before Minho talks again is all Bobby needs to know that Minho is rolling his eyes at him.

"I could have still helped you unload the stuff at the restaurant," Minho pulls out his phone, casting his face aglow in white.

Bobby shrugs, "the part-timers will be there to do my bidding."

Minho makes a tsking sound and the light turns for them to start moving again.

"Besides," Bobby remarks. "I thought I'd be nice and let you work on all your doodles and school stuff."

Minho barks out a laugh.

"The train would have been faster~, " he sing songs.

"Ungrateful," Bobby scowls without any real heat to it.

Minho continues with his phone.

"You know for all the mystery dates you two had, I can't believe B.I let your Aunt take his picture to put on the restaurant wall."

Bobby laughs, "and sign it."

"And signed it," Minho repeats with a laugh of his own. "At least that solves the mystery of how he got upstairs."

"But not the mystery of how he did so without getting stuffed with food," Bobby slows for another red light.

"He probably disarmed her with a smile or something," Minho says distractedly.

Bobby glances down to Minho's phone and spots Instagram open with an uploading bar working its way across the top of the screen.

Something inside him flips.

"What are you doing?" He asks. "Are you uploading a picture of the picture?"

"Hell yeah I am," Minho croons and shows the freshly posted proof of it. "I'm helping to promote the restaurant."

"Bullshit," Bobby says but he's smiling with his own roll of the eyes.

"Well it's not like it's a secret," Minho says in excuse. "She has it right next to the window and tells everyone about how _charming_ he was."

"Uh huh," Bobby says.

"And do you realize how many girls are gonna show up now?" Minho smiles a little wickedly. "You may be off the market but _I'm_ not."

Bobby shakes his head, "there's the real motive."

Minho snorts, "you would have done the same."

Bobby only sighs and focuses again on the road.

"I guess that makes it official," Minho quips.

Bobby's first thought goes to B.I and him together and it makes his chest concave with the weight of all the butterflies that decide to flutter down on it.

"What is?" It comes out hoarse.

"The whole YG thing," Minho says missing the way Bobby grips the wheel a little harder till his knuckles go white. "That B.I wants you to be the seventh member."

Bobby breathes out slowly, the mentioning of YG triggering all his fight or flight instincts.

"So?" He hisses.

Minho's phone screen switches suddenly back to black and the male looks across to him. Reading him in the silence.

"We can still be friends without me being in ikon," Bobby says a little lowly trying to displace whatever it is Minho thinks he's figured out.

A distant chorus of car horns sound off in a ripple of song.

"Yeah," Minho says a little weakly. "Of course you can."

"I can." Bobby snaps.

"No one is taking away your ramen sexting dates, Bobby," Minho says it a little too harshly despite it meaning to be a tease.

Bobby frowns, but the line of lips move in the opposite direction. He can feel his jaw tightening. The silence exudes from him in a deadly force.

One that Minho ignores as he continues on about how Bobby needs to think about the opportunities and advantages of joining ikon. And how the underground is getting too small.

Bobby's heard it all already.

"I fucking **_don't_** **care** ," Bobby growls.

He turns the car into the university drive and crawls along until he gets to the right dorm entrance.

But Minho won't leave it alone.

"So you'd still say no if he asked you?"

 _Yes_ , Bobby internally hisses. A line about selling out is right on the tip of his fucking tongue but, the same venom as when he first said it weeks ago isn't there.

And that may just be the most frustrating thing about this.

He glares at Minho but the older male is unaffected.

Bobby just shakes his head.

"Goodnight," he whispers not even bothering to put the car in park once he stops.

Minho's breath comes out through his nose in a frustrated rush, "Bobby."

And it's said so weightily, like a boulder tossed into a lake. The disappointment rippling.

"I donow," Bobby mumbles and the leather under his palm squeaks like a dying animal.

"What?"

A long silence.

"I said I _don't know_ ," he releases his hold on the steering wheel and sighs.

"You don't know what you want?"

"No!" And it's back to an angry hiss. "I know what _I_ want. _I want_ to make good music. It's everyone else's expectations that are getting in my fucking way."

The silence this time is longer and Bobby starts to rub his forehead.

The seat squeaks under Minho's weight as he shifts his body away from Bobby.

"Isn't that what B.I wants too?"

And it's so similar to what B.I had said before, _"we're not so different, Bobby."_

Bobby doesn't say anything. His eyes lock straight ahead, that menace of a grin retreating into a tight lip frown.

How could they perceive what's best for him? Minho doesn't know. B.I doesn't understand.

They aren't him.

 _But..._ But what?

Those dark eyes, narrowed in frustration, flash through his memory, _"I want to change the way the music industry works."_

And then the image of that flash drive glinting in the streetlight between them. And it hits him all the same as if it was really there in front of him.

That longing, the curiosity. The pain when that wonder of a chance limped away.

But, being in a company like YG. Becoming someone he wasn't in order to appease a market.

The muscle in his jaw twitches. And this time Minho takes the cue to leave.

As soon as the door shuts Bobby rolls off with a screech to the tires.

He hates fighting with Minho. He hates leaving angry. But it is what it is and now his thoughts and insecurities are chasing him down the street.

Bobby knows that he can't outrun them. That they'll catch up eventually.

That they always do.

 

* * *

* * *

 

_I don't need the police records to prove my misconduct._

_If there's a rap sheet than my name has already been highlighted._

_And I'm most wanted._

Bobby taps his pen against the page, his lips pursing to one side of his mouth as his teeth bite softly at the skin within.

His eyes slip close and in a rhythmic flow, he recites the lines again.

 _Fire,_ his mind suggests and something sparks.

 _An arsonist on this track_ , he writes down. Stares. And then adds, _your jealousy is free fuel to the flames._

He taps his pen again. Something wasn't quite right. The direction was there but the wording was...off.

_Fan your jealousy, make those flames burn higher in my presence. Call me an arsonist._

No. That's not it either. He crosses that last part out.

He glances at his phone face up on the bedside table where it lays beside a droopy Pooh. His eyes then slide to the numbers on the digital clock. 

_00:18AM_

He looks back to the rap he's been arranging for the gig on Saturday. But his mind drifts.

He thinks of what B.I could be doing. The last he heard from him was just a single worded answer to that tease Bobby made hours ago.

An answer that even upon thought, sends the same kind of tingly rush of excitement up the track of his spine and down the length of his member.

At least Bobby knows what _he'll_ be doing before bed...

He had said something else but that message was left unread, which meant more than likely that B.I was busy.

Bobby reads the lines again but now he's just tired and drained.

He thinks back to his fight with Minho. Was it a fight? They go through the same roe all the time. If it wasn't about school than it was YG and ikon.

The frustration surges again but beneath that was the tiniest pang of guilt.

Again his eyes slide back to his phone. He should text his friend. He knew the grudge wouldn't last and they'd be fine by Saturday for the show, but Bobby hates the pestering feeling of an open wound.

He had to bandage it at least. _Look, I know you just want what's best for me but I'm just not at that point to make a discussion. Besides B.I hasn't brought it up._

Or something like that. Not that he'd keep the same formality in person. And he'd probably sarcastically call Minho, **_dad_** , even though his friend was only a year older.

Bobby flops back onto his bed, his legs unfolding from beneath him.

He tosses his notebook and pen at the light switch on the wall and manages to hit it on the first try. _Score._

The room snaps to the slumbering grey of the night. Ribs of light from behind the shuttered blinds fold over his legs as Bobby digs himself further into a comfortable spot on his bed.

His hands come back to slip under his shirt to rub at his lower stomach in teasing, soothing, circles.

Tomorrow he thinks. He'll call Minho tomorrow when he finishes the rap.

He lets out a sigh, eyes closing as another pair comes into view, their depth blending in with the darkness around him. Lips pulling into words like _hello_ and a name so personal Bobby can taste it like glazed cherries on his tongue.

 

_Ka ka ka ka taaaalk. Ka ka ka ka taaaalk._

Bobby opens his eyes, barely, they're heavy with sleep.

 _Ka ka ka ka taaaalk_ , the sound comes again in a close vicinity to his ear. _Ka ka ka ka taaaalk._

What the fuck _is_ that?

Bobby manages to rise up onto his elbows, his eyes fluttering as light from his phone clears away the black stillness of the dark room.

Someone was calling him?

It's too bright and he squints as if he's holding a pocket-sized sun instead of an electronic device.

He's staring, the sound still making a ruckus.

It wasn't a phone call.

He hits accept and the screen changes into a warm orange hue with a face slightly too close to the camera.

"Hi," Bobby says gruffly like it's been ages since he's spoken last.

He puts the phone in his lap as he sits up more, and takes a minute to rub his eyes before picking it back up.

"I can't see you," B.I smiles like he's laughing but no sound comes out.

Bobby mumbles a semblance of nothing and leans over to the other side of his bed where a tableless lamp sits on the floor. He clicks the twist of a knob under the bulb and is assaulted with a warm lit hue of his own.

"There you are," B.I muses.

Bobby runs a hand through his hair, the blurriness in his vision dissipating.

He adjusts the phone to get his better angle, coughs, sniffs and speaks.

"What are you up to?" He asks as if he hasn't just woken up at, he looks at the clock, 3 am in the morning.

He keeps it casual even though this is their first video call ever. And it feels intimate, the possibilities it could evolve into.

He sniffs again, his nose scrunching up to his eyes.

"I couldn't sleep," B.I's eyes dart to watch something move off screen and then comes back. "We moved hotels tonight to be closer to tomorrow's...well today's events. So we're feeling restless."

Bobby picks up on the use of _"we"_. And also on the fact that B.I has dark circles under his eyes and a shadow above his lips.

He looked different here than what Bobby was used too. There's small blemishes on his cheeks. And his features, the width of his nose, the fullness of his mouth, the set of his eyes, all seemed more aged. Mature, sophisticated.

 _Handsome_ , his mind offers.

"Who else is there?" And he tries not to sound too disappointed or curious. The phone sex could wait if he was about to see another member of ikon.

"Donghyuk and Yunhyeong are my roommates," B.I's eyes flitter off to the side again. "Jinhwan is here but he's _leaving_."

Something in his tone goes stern at that stressed word and Bobby wishes he could see why.

There's a far-off voice that is more sound than tangible words to Bobby's ears but, B.I makes a face and the phone jostles enough to elude that a possible obscene hand sign was given.  

Laughter comes next and then a second head appears next to B.I's.

"Who is this?" The new male asks, his long bangs fall to drape across his eyes. He flicks them away.

Bobby doesn't know the names to faces, he's skipped all but B.I's pictures in the album booklet and focused mainly on the lyrics and credit pages. But he knows their music and already his mind matches the face to moments in a song. Supplying, that here was the bridging voice between the lower tones and the lead vocalists.

In Bobby's ears, a soft melody of parts play while clear, round, espresso rich eyes stare back at him.

They're warmer, wiser, than B.I's whose eyes swallow in every detail.

Yes, these were a different kind of dark. Expressive and gentle. Like they've seen the hardship but lost not even a fraction of compassion.

The boy smiles and it might have well been home cooked meals and blue sky spring days.

"Bobby," he says. The _y_ of his name dragged into a mirthful _i_ sounding hum.

The phone gets pushed back to achieve a wider view.

"Yunhyeong, _wait_ ," B.I whispers, a note of surprise and a blossoming smirk appears on the other boy's straight lined lips.

And Bobby can see why.

The phone tilts forward a bit and all Bobby is able to compute is _skin_.

Soft caramel skin. A lot of it.

And at the bare shoulder, a pretty script of a foreign word sprawls out in neat strokes and flows together to glide over the soft bump of pectoral muscle.

Bobby's mouth dries.

The male's, Yunhyeong's, smile widens.

B.I swallows and in a movement that seems to start below the camera and travel upward, B.I wiggles himself further down into the bed. Once again hiding the most of his chest.

But that act was enough to brand itself into Bobby's memory. The ridges of collarbone, the stretch of a neck, and... just...fuck. It was hot.

B.I for all his shyness in showing his shirtlessness looks back into the camera unabashed. Almost keening a challenge of his own.

"You look tired," Yunhyeong says. And it's a voice that could read instruction manuals and make them sound poetic.

Bobby releases a yawn and blinks slowly, the threat of drowsiness still there.

"It's fine," he manages and sniffs once again at the air to clear his nose.

Yunhyeong turns to B.I and smacks the back of his head.

Strands of hair puff up as B.I's head knocks forward.

"Let him go back to sleep you _insomniac_ ," it's scolded. A hyung's voice.

B.I throws him a glare and appears to reach out for the phone but the other merely holds his arm out further.

"He doesn't mind, do you Bobby?" B.I says still going for the phone.

"No," Bobby agrees not missing the new views of B.I's chest. Abs, the boy has abs.

 _Beautiful_ , his mind whispers. And his lips tingle with the desire to kiss every square inch of it.

B.I makes a frustrated sound that comes out more like a childish whine than anything else.

"Hyung!"

"What's going on?" Another new voice, _Donghyuk_ , if Bobby remembers the mentioned roommates correctly. It comes from behind the phone and it's followed by a hiccup of laughter.

"It's Bobby," Yunhyeong smiles again while B.I's eyes go wide like a pleading puppy.

And then, suddenly the view on Bobby's screen is just spinning beige hotel walls and suddenly Donghyuk's face appears.

His blonde hair spikes up in various peaks across his head, wet from a recent shower.

He adjusts the height of the phone, appearing to know the best angles for his face. To reveal the indent of his cheeks and sharpen the length of his jaw.  

"You're quite lucky Bobby," Donghyuk says.

Bobby feels bashful but doesn't know what for.

"How so?" He asks.

Donghyuk swings directions, apparently avoiding prying hands. And smiles with a laugh so unique and warm.

If Yunhyeong was spring, then he was summer with all the glory of embodied sunshine in that voice. And still, Bobby's mind plays for him one of ikon's ballads where he was certain Donghyuk had hit all the painful notes of sorrow.

"I never saw him use his phone so much," he laughs again. "The rest of us get one-word answers at most. If we're lucky. I might be jealous."

They're teasing B.I and Bobby smiles. He knows what it's like to have a cocky, playful friend.

But, luckily, Bobby only had _one_ Minho and not the _five_ B.I has.

"There's nothing to be jealous of," Bobby plays along. "Unless you like animals and seeing food you can't eat through a screen."

Donghyuk laughs out so brilliantly.

And from behind him, B.I's voice rises into the fastest Korean Bobby has ever heard spoken in all his young years.

He manages to catch only a few things like, _"longer practice"_ , and _"don't think I missed how you fucked up the timing today."_

But they're laughing and Bobby is too.

"Goodnight Bobby," Donghyuk says right before the phone goes for another dizzying spin.

It cuts to black, possibly having fallen face down on the bed if the now muffled voices were any indication.

B.I appears again after a minute or so of this.

The lighting in the room has changed, a dim has set like all but the light at B.I's beside has been switched off.

"Did you finish putting the kids to bed?" Bobby offers.

B.I scoffs and joint laughter rustles off-screen.

"Yes, they're going to _sleep_ ," he says loud enough for all to hear. And then softer, more slowly with his own tired rasp. "How was your day?"

Bobby smiles like it's a funny question to ask. So average.

"So-so," he leans back onto his own bed. Holding the phone above him and proceeds to tell B.I all that he hadn't in their texts.

He even tells of the small insignificant things, but B.I listens like it's the thrilling last few chapters of any Harry Potter book or the action scenes of blockbuster heroic movies.

He even tells him of Minho's _"ramen-tic"_ joke. And to that B.I smiles fully, like a curtain lifting, his white teeth reveal themselves. And Bobby catches a detail he's missed all the other times before.

A detail that can hide until shadows and dim lighting draws it out to admire. A tooth just behind the front two that's just a little more indented than the rest.

An imperfection that forces out a crooked tooth smile of Bobby's own.

"That's cute," B.I says and Bobby can't tell if it's more so directed at him or at the pun.

"When will you be back?" Bobby spills the question like it's been on the forefront of his mind and he's just been waiting to voice it.

B.I looks away to think, calculating timetables and travel times.

"I'm not sure of the plane details," he admits. "Just that we leave from the show Saturday night."

His eyes come back to Bobby's.

"Ok," Bobby breathes. That's only two days to go, but it feels stretched out and unending. He doesn't even know if B.I will come see him again and he doesn't have the courage to ask.

His eyelids droop, he's too comfortable. And his arms are starting to ache from keeping his phone up.

"Let's sleep," B.I whispers. And it sounds so unifying. Like something to do together.

"I'm not tired," a stubborn denial.

A small hint of mirth in the eyes, "you can't lie to me, Bobby."

"Nah," Bobby says and nothing else so it just hangs in the air between them.

B.I gathers it up and appeases Bobby's unspoken wish to just stay like this a little longer. Maybe a shared wish, but that could be mistaken.

"You have a gig this weekend?"

Bobby hums a gruff confirmation, "I'm headlining. Saturday night."

"Did you finish your lines?"

"Almost," Bobby opens his eyes a little more, but it hardly makes a difference as they close again bit by bit.

Why was he so tired? Why did B.I call so late in the night?

"I'm waiting for something to click for the last part," Bobby admits.

"Can I hear?" B.I speaks slowly, languidly, but otherwise looks unaffected by the hour. And Bobby half wonders if he's doing it on purpose.

 _Fox or a tiger_ , they both can bite.

"Um.." Bobby tries to think but all he remembers is something about fires and jealousy.

"You don't want to?" B.I asks and there's a glint in his eye. A humor. "Don't trust me?"

Bobby coughs, "it's not that."

His eyes close fully, just for a second. Just a second, he swears.

"Then why?" B.I's voice drifts.

"I don't remember," Bobby whispers.

"It'll come to you."

 

 

Bobby wakes with the sun high up in a crisp noon sky. His phone, cradled in his hands and tucked beneath his chin, alerts him to a low battery.

He jolts up, when did he fall asleep?

But, wait. Nevermind that, he needs his notebook.

A thin thread between his conscious and subconscious remains connected, but it's fragile like lonely strands of spider webs or paper streamers.

Where's his notebook?

Why is it on the floor across the room?

 _He threw it_ , yes, he remembers that.

He darts from his bed and kneels before it like in worship to a god. This shrine of his thoughts when his phone wasn't enough.

The pages flip at his bidding and the pen bleeds its ink as soon as he touches it to the paper.

 _Quickly_ , before the words fade out.

 _I don't need the police records to prove my misconduct. If there's a rap sheet than my name has already been_ , he crosses out _highlighted_ and writes in _circled_.

Bobby also crosses out the line under that and writes in short jerky hangul the new bit, _I'm an arson and your my fan, good, bad, just keep talking to see how hot it gets._

It clicks. The tether in his mind breaks but he's happy. He can work with this.

 

* * *

* * *

  
  
  
_22:48PM: landed_

  
Bobby is outside the club, his laugh reckless and loud.  
  
His body sways like he's tipsy with drinks but he's only had a glass, the rest is from a show gone unbelievably well.  
  
A packed floor with all those bodies moving as one with him. And encore after encore he returned to them until they were at their highest and he had little more to offer than a _goodnight, sweet dreams_ and a wink to ensure it.  
  
Minho bumps his side when the hour strikes a new, and together they leave, waving goodbye to the others they hung around with.

  
_23:46PM: are you home?_

 

Bobby bounds through his apartment, still hyper from the show.  
  
His semi-wet hair loops in wirey curls from his shower. The top of his head, a frizzy and messy kind of air dried mop of tangles. Only his tips around his ears were left dropping tiny driblets of water onto his bare shoulders.  
  
The only clothing he's donned on is his pair of black sweats.  
  
He's got one leg of it rolled right up under his left knee. The elastic having been stretched out after all these years of wearing them. So much so that he has to roll and tuck it to ensure its staying abilities.  
  
He kicks his legs a few times to trust it. And then decides that with not much else to do he'll get a playlist going from his laptop and spend the rest of his energy doing some workouts. Otherwise, he'd be liable to go back out and get himself into trouble.  
  
He hits the floor and starts with crunches.  
  
  
00:22AM: here  
  
  
Bobby grunts, _55, 56, 57..._ he starts to feel the drain on his extra exuberance.  
  
_64, 65, 66_ , he stays down for the next count and just stares up at the ceiling. Just breathing and then his eyes slip close. That roar of the crowd still in his ears. The stomping of their feet louder than his music.  
  
_Thump, thump, thump._  
  
He smiles, it never got old. That excitement. It was always surreal.  
  
He continues his set of crunches, _67, 68,_ but the thumping remains.  
  
He stops fully, thinking maybe it came from the restaurant below.  
  
But no, it's at his door.  
  
Bobby's up, running. Nearly sliding across the floors in his haste.  
  
His heart is bottle rocket explosions, and all that energy he spent comes back with the joy that rushes alongside him.  
  
_Thump, thump, thum—_  
  
Bobby swings the door open.  
  
"Hi," he says a bit breathlessly and it's the same as before. Face covered and body draped with loose fitting clothes.  
  
Bobby smiles and the hood fall back, dark eyes softening as they meet his. And then grovel downward to drink him in, shifting from softness to rapture approval of Bobby's lack of a shirt.    
  
A face mask is still on but B.I speaks around it.  
  
"I texted," he says.  
  
Bobby loosens a breath.  
  
"It's on the charger," he replies. "I didn't see."  
  
B.I reaches up to undo his facemask but Bobby gets there first.  
  
There's no small talk. There's no _"how was the flight"_ or _"how was your stage?"_ Fine. Great. It's unneeded. Unwanted.  
  
Bobby just reaches out, pausing once before undoing the one ear strap.  
  
They offer no _"how are you? I missed you_ ”. That's still too personal, too revealing. But it's there between them.  
  
That. And a much stronger force.  
  
Something hotter and impulsive.  
  
It sparks the air and Bobby can feel it singe the tips of his fingers where they come into contact with B.I's skin. A jolt of fraying nerves and hunger.  
  
_I missed you. I waited. I_ **_want_ ** _you._  
  
Peony pink petals part and the bag in B.I's hand drops to the floor.  
  
And then it's his hand cupping the back of B.I's head. And their lips meeting in full force.  
  
It's hands in hair and gripping the backs of necks. And B.I pushing them fully into the apartment so Bobby can push him against the door.  
  
And it's lips on top of lips. Melding and fusing, these soft swollen bits of skin becoming sensitive to the touch of teeth and tongue. And how wide they open for the other, pushing for more.  
  
The hairs on his arms stand up and every inch of him screams in rejoice.  
  
He wants B.I like this, under his hands, against his body.

To feel his breathing and the touches that break Bobby’s control, the journey they take down.

Let there be more he thinks. This teasing, this excitement.

He shivers from the base of his spine to the tip if his neck and when B.I bites down on his lip Bobby arches so beautifully into those hands holding his waist.

Goosebumps rise up, yearning for the same caress that slides across his hip bones.

“More,” Bobby’s pleads, maybe not realizing he’s said it out loud. A wantful _yes_.

Let there be _more_ , Bobby repeats, tongue seeking that snaggle of a tooth.

Let there be **_more_**.

 

 

 

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh geez I wonder what the next chapter will entail.. hoho~ And hello yundong~! If they are your biases then please let me know how you liked them. Yun is a bit sneaky there. But it's all in good fun to team up on Hanbin, haha. 
> 
> Again many thanks to beta Aby [ [x](http://shimco.tumblr.com/) ].
> 
> Comments give me life and motivation~


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry this is late guys – hopefully I more than made up for it

B.I surges off the door the second Bobby nips his tongue. 

He slams against the adjoined wall with such a rattling force it might have been concussive. And yet, Bobby’s head is spared from it by a firm grip to the back of his skull. A near cradling motion that protects him, maybe a second nature inherited from years of safeguarding others. 

But nothing protects him from the chill that stings the bare skin of his back. Quickly arching away from it in an attempt to escape the foyer’s maddening temperature difference.

B.I, however, only presses him back against it.

Bobby's throat clenches in on itself in an attempt to whimper. The lack of air in his lungs disallowing the ammunition for sound while his whole chest compresses as if to hug him in comfort.

B.I pulls back. Just a quick gap. A refuel before starting again.

Bobby hates that space even as his chest expands and his lips dry in order to bring in that rush of abundant lifesource. So heavily sucked in that he’d think them both drowning.

_ Pathetic _ , he thinks. To have such a weakness when he doesn't know how long B.I will stay with him tonight.

They’re tittering on the cusp of something more. Every look, every touch, a jarring reminder of just how close they are to experiencing a two world collison. 

He can feel the egocentric sediments shifting between them.

Those carefully manned walls cracking and eroding to stronger forces. 

If they had the night, the things Bobby could imagine. The things they could  _ do. _

How messy they’d be when their bodies, slick with perspiration, fail to hold themselves up when desperation crushes them.

How dark lined irises, shyed by the other’s stare, shrink to give bloom to something far redder and more erotic. And how a delicate ring of muscle bouqueted with white knuckle grips and opalescent steams of dotted dew, unfurls and asks for more. 

How beautifully they would crumble. The evidence of their unison left to dry in the twisted blue of Bobby’s fresh bed sheets.

But, is B.I willing to stay an hour? Two? Dare Bobby wish for more? 

For Bobby would want  **days** of  _ this _ .

No eyes to smile for or expectations to uphold. The bedroom, their sanctuary for however long B.I wants it. Since he’d leave again. He always does. And for how long? 

Days? Weeks? Months? 

And for what? The money? The fame? 

Bobby might accept their differences in profession. But could he accept that maybe, one day B.I would lose interest in being with him? The sneaking around too much of a hassle, the touring making him forget his touch. And one morning Bobby would be like that of an old pop song that’s run its course and displaced by something newer, catchier.

Even their friendship abandoned. 

Bobby swallows.  _ Don’t think, don't think, don’t think about  _ **_that_ ** _. _

So, it’s  **seconds** that Bobby is counting.  **_Seconds_ ** that he lives in and hordes.

_ Inhale. Exhale. _ Just like that. It’s all Bobby gives to them, to his lungs, to B.I's. It’s just enough to ease the pain. 

And then he's back to latching onto those reddened lips. 

His lungs burn again, a painful cry of fire. A beating alarm pounds in his ears but he’s deaf to it. He won’t stop. 

Not now. Not when he's caught up in such a dizzying heed. 

Not when the hard toned strength in his core butterflies at the softest touch of fingers so smooth and perfect.  

Fingers that still bare the chill of the night, and yet as they drop lower and lower make him hotter and hotter. And where at last they meet the lip of his sweats and every centimeter of skin that’s caught in the circumference goosebumps in greeting. 

A wildfire of heat shoots out of that perimeter and races up.

His nape prickles from it, his cheeks illuminate at its passing graze, ‘til not even the tips of his ears can escape it.

So breathing be damned. 

He needs kisses to quench him. Whispered names to break him.

And  _ skin _ . He needs the vulnerability of nakedness. But all B.I gives him is the length of a neck, a flush set of fuschia dipped cheeks, and fingers that never seem to want to stay in one place.

And no matter how much he enjoys pressing in right at where the sinned apple bite lodges itself. Or filling the whole of his palm with the curvature of a jaw, and nuzzling in until he’d very much purr with the shyness of affection. It’s  **_not_ ** enough.

To only be left with  _ this _ when there’s a whole body to explore drives him mad.

Bobby shoves B.I back, and his lips burn at the loss so fiercely that he races forward to amend the severance. 

But his hands don't easily forgive. They shreds the zippers of jackets and start to inch up the hems of shirts.

He’s careless and rash. He manages the sound for a nasty growl and is on the verge of another when B.I grabs his wrists.

"Okay," B.I manages against him. 

He proceeds to gingerly kiss the corner of his mouth, then his cheek, and when Bobby’s eyes flutter shut B.I kisses him there too. 

Bobby twists his face away, a second having already passed. All those thoughts of being left behind, of losing something, spill over. 

“Hey,” B.I says softly taking ahold of Bobby’s hands and trapping them to his own chest where he can feel the tripping of his own heart. A furious rhythm.

And at the same time, one of B.I’s thumbs strokes the hollow of his wrist. 

"I'm here," B.I whispers into his cheek and Bobby inhales so quickly it sounds anguished. So B.I says it again.

_ I’m here. _

There’s no name for the feeling that dissipates, no way to explain how Bobby’s body shudders as if to dispel the last of it. Only to say that it does so at the sound of B.I's reassurance. 

"For how long?" Bobby whispers. His voice coming out quiet and wet as if all that air, so sticky and and thick, catches at the back of his throat and makes it a struggle to communicate.

His head dips onto B.I’s shoulder, "for how long will you stay?"

A sigh, and then B.I seems to find, without looking, a cord of muscle on his neck. For which he proceeds to make it his priority to kiss as much of it as he can reach.

"I'm not leaving without you," he finally says. And with a gentle push to Bobby’s shoulders to ward him, B.I shrugs off his overcoat and zip-ups. 

It’s an exhale. A drop of a guard. And Bobby feels there's something to be said about that ease B.I radiates.

_ I’m not leaving without you. _

He knows what that implies. And yet he doesn’t give room to protest it.  

Maybe he's already given in. Maybe he's just waiting to hear B.I's proposition. Waiting to hear where in B.I's story, what chapters, what pages, would dare ink Bobby's name down alongside B.I's. 

Bobby lifts his head. 

He doesn’t have to say yes. He wouldn’t, not really. But that hard no didn’t bitter his tongue in the same way it used to. Minho saw that, tried to talk it out with him. But, still Bobby pushes it aside.  

Bobby tentatively gets his hands onto B.I’s hips and tugs him back in closer. The final hoodie and shirt rumpling with massive ripples, both probably four sizes too big. 

B.I offers a chaste kiss and Bobby jerks B.I fully against his body in order to chase it for another less shy one.

They both take a breath at the revelations their lower halves give, the intentions they foretell. But it’s that little gasp B.I emits from it that gets Bobby’s heart skittering off track in marriment. 

He rolls his hips experimentally while B.I presses in and it’s clear to them both that what’s currently budding up on Bobby’s leg isn’t anything to be mistaken for keys or phones. 

And vice versa. 

Bobby smiles, matching the toothy grin he feels sliding along his lips. 

But before the kiss comes B.I leans back away, looking a little more breathless than Bobby expected. 

He reaches for the neck of his hoodie and tugs, his head just as quickly disappearing in the undressing. 

Although B.I didn’t grab it, that long tee under it slides up too and inch by inch the skin of his torso is revealed.

His hips press in against Bobby his shoulders push back and the resulting curvature to B.I’s back is an arched letter shape of a line that even the renaissance masters could only dream of sculpting.

He’s all lean muscle and smooth skin. And it's magnets to Bobby’s hands, feeling like fresh rose petals and silk against his palm. 

He briefly touches the dip right above B.I’s ass and all Bobby can think about is how he’d like to hike trails up from here to the tip of B.I’s spine with only his mouth. Repeatedly. Venturing occasionally elsewhere until it was every square centimeter that’s been kissed. 

B.I gets the hoodie off, his chestnut brown haired head popping back out with a flourish. His idol hair is askewed and fluffy, and he smiles a little self aware of it. 

_ Soft, _ Bobby's mind says. Getting the sense that it's bubbles of champagne and butterflies surging through him now. 

Bobby reaches up and combs his fingers through it. His own smile crossing his features.

He’s just so _happy_. This boy is hot and cute and Bobby knows he’s falling for everything B.I is.

And maybe that might just scare him shitless, but when B.I kisses him, it’s without restraint.

So maybe he wasn’t alone in this.

B.I drops the remnants of his fashion to the floor and kicks it aside.

Bobby takes the moment to trace those spectacular collar bones and biceps. The black ink and of a foreign word etched there. _Nihilism?_

"What does it mean?" Bobby asks, his fingers just skimming it as if it'd crack if touched too hard. 

B.I leans in, managing his weight on one arm to the wall next to Bobby's shoulder. 

Bobby swallows, something in that makes his dick twitch.

"It's a reminder," B.I says flattening Bobby’s one hand over his heart.

Bobby can feel the soft rapid patter against his palm. He presses in more, scared to lose it.

_ Of what? _ Bobby wants to ask, but something in the way the light dulls out those sable black eyes makes him think it might be too personal to bring up. In this moment, at least. 

He leaves it be and slides his hand out from under B.I’s to continue further down. Enjoying the ripple of breath when he skims the one peeking out from the Armani stamped band of elastic.

It only figures B.I’s underwear would be high designer label.

“Like father, like son," Bobby reads in english. The words feeling weird on his tongue.

"Like master, like man," B.I recites the second line, sounding equally accented. 

B.I presses his forehead to Bobby's temple but Bobby ducks to keep a clear line of sight, shaking slightly when a breath tickles his restraint. 

He hooks a finger into the band, pulling it down to reveal the beginning of a third line that slants down at a different angle. Enough of it showing to peak his curiosity on how it finishes. Also, he’s pretty sure that it follows the gorgeous apollonian body line ther. But how far down it goes Bobby would like to know most of all. 

And now he smiles for different reasons.

"Cocky," Bobby muses. 

B.I nips his jaw, " _exactly_."

He touches Bobby’s waist and it’s the same spreading heat and tidal waves of wings in his stomach. But the knee wedging itself between his thighs is a new feeling that spikes an onslaught of arousal through to his blood.

B.I presses in until it's the dips of their hips kissing together and the skin of their bare chest meeting flush for the first time 

And for all the stamina Bobby has on stage, all those single breath sentences he can convey without breaking a sweat, it doesn't help him here. 

His breathing is incredibly raggy and leaves him in a single  _ whoosh _ the second he feels B.I's leg hitch up against his groin. 

His knees buckle and his hands flee to find purchase of stability. Gripping shoulders and arms and B.I’s neck in a flurry of movement, trying to find the right balance before arching his body into a roll against it. 

B.I whispers something into his ear, something appraising and libidinous. Bobby flushes even more. 

He feels like a furnace in this state. Surely even B.I can feel the searing heat radiating off of him. But he can't hide it now. That wanting, the eagerness.

He has an erection grinding onto B.I's leg and a new unfamiliar need for B.I to keep talking to him in ways that reward him with more than just full body shivers. 

B.I presses a hand to the small of his back. The wide bridge of his nose nuzzling into Bobby’s cheek. And Bobby loses another breath as he rolls again, and again, and again

There’s a whisper spoken too softly for Bobby to hear, but he suddenly recalls the appraisal B.I had once texted all those weeks ago. Just the skim of the memory has Bobby jolting forward.

A second hand pushes back on his waist to gain space and Bobby slows his movement just enough to fully let the drag of those fingers drive him crazy.

"Yes," he says when B.I is again at the brim of his pants. And he’s so breathless. Desperate even. His arms circle B.I's neck and he presses his nose into the heat of B.I’s neck.

"Yes?" B.I questions, and Bobby can feel the short reverberations of the question. But B.I’s fingers are already starting to bypass the drawstring closure.

Bobby's eyes slip close as he hums his shakey approval. His hips rolling the instant he feels his erection fill the enclosure of B.I’s hand. 

They didn’t have anything but maybe saliva if B.I even bothered with that. Or precum if B.I gets enough of it before it dries and stains the inside of his pants for the night.

But the moment was monumental enough that Bobby didn’t care for the lube. It’s dry strokes and friction but he keeps rolling into it and whining when B.I thumbs his head.

And for all the delicateness B.I’s looks offer, his grip, much like his rap, is precise and abrasive.

B.I twists his wrist in a solid perfected motion that has Bobby's stomach clenching in.

And then B.I gets a tip of a nail to his head and it's all those core muscles working against him as Bobby jerks forward with a startling gasp. 

B.I snickers. 

In retaliation Bobby bites down right where the jugular would bleed the brightest if he were to sink in deep enough. 

He does it just hear that sudden gasp from B.I. The one that makes it sound like the stoppage of the heart has a voice all of its own. And it comes at first in surprise and then as a hiss.

It's only a few seconds but it's enough to trigger Bobby's cockiness and B.I's reprimand.

There's no hand at the back of his skull to protect him from the wall this time. Just an arm right under his throat and the full force of B.I's weight slamming him against it and keeping him there. 

Bobby smiles devilishly even though his breath hitches at another dry stroke along the length of his member. 

He eyes the crescents of his teeth marks, smiling even more. They’re igniting into a furious red on that creamy palette of skin and Bobby would offer to lick away the pain if B.I wasn’t bringing the hand retreating from Bobby’s pants to his mouth. 

B.I keeps his stare locked on him even though Bobby's eyes have fallen to watch the slicked pink muscle of B.I's tongue slip past the plush red barricades that Bobby once assaulted so thoroughly.

They open so easily now and wet saliva and seafoam meet the open palm of B.I's hand. Licking in quick smooth motions up to the tips of fingers that then disappear three knuckles deep into his mouth.

B.I's cheeks hollow as his works and the muscles of his neck move with fluid grace. And had Bobby known he’d do this, he would have rethought the neck biting. Just so he could have the opportunity to kiss every revealed detail, including that sweet bobbing of a sinned apple bite.

Hanbin takes his hand away and Bobby catches the gleam on it before it dips back down and closes around him. And this time the strokes are faster and slicked with a lube that B.I has to keep replenishing. He goes until his hand sticks and skips over Bobby’s length.

But Bobby doesn't know what’s worse, watching the fingers he has since only been able to dream of in his mouth being sucked at by B.I or the stop and go of this hand job.

On the next retreat Bobby catches B.I's hand and they both pause. A little question sparking through the touch. But Bobby's mouth is already waiting and B.I lets him bring his fingers to it.

Bobby's too breathy and rushed to truly savor the way he had all those times in his head. Too on edge to take his time, but maybe later he thinks.

He looks up when B.I's thumb is just a centimeter away from a kiss. Holding the stare of obsidian eyes with faintly rimmed irises of dark, dark, umber, as he slides the digit in.

It's pressure on his tongue and a taste. A light, bitter, floral taste.  

Lotion. Bobby amends. B.I is wearing hand lotion. 

He can smell the tang of it. A lingering fragrance of roses, or baby pink blossoms, or a combination of all those flowers that match the pretty shade of B.I's lips. And there's something heavy, like the smell of the woods after a long deserved rainfall. That cloying freshness of dirt and greenery. Masculine and yet soft, natural.

Bobby breathes in deep, his eyes closing. Maybe that was just B.I's own underling scent. An essence worth drowning in and refinding in the sheets when he's gone. 

Bobby drags taste buds over the manicured edge of the nail. Feeling it sting like paper cuts. 

He moans a little, his hips still rocking idly. It's taking all of his patience to not just fist B.I's hand with messy dripping strings of spit. He can't last this long. 

B.I pulls the finger back slowly, and Bobby takes two more in its place. For these, Bobby draws them in as deep as he can get them. Nearly enough to tickle the back of his throat.

It's a demonstration that gets B.I rolling into him, the leg on his groin inching up higher. 

Bobby shudders and hums lightly as he licks between the slit before moving on to the last two. 

_ Faster, _ he thinks.  _ Before it dries. _

He cradles B.I's palm in his own, at first making short strokes to it like a grooming kitten before then kissing puddles of wet splotches across it. 

And then it's back on his dick and Bobby thinks this is it. He grips B.I's arm, thrusting vehemently forward for it. And when it dries as they know it would, Bobby forces B.I to stay there, playing with his sensitive head as Bobby concaves to it.

He gets nails into B.I's forearm and he knows B.I is watching him, but he can't manage to open his screwed shut eyes as he empties himself.

He thinks he must have moaned and garbled  _ kiss me _ , because B.I crashes into him with such a force that bangs Bobby's head back onto the wall. 

B.I drops the arm barring him there in favor of gripping his nape while Bobby's own hands jump into B.I's hair. His fingers knotting in the longer parts of it as B.I still coaxes his arousal to higher sensations. Both their hips rocking in circles looking for more. 

And when it's through, with the pair of them just rebreathing the same air into each other's mouth, B.I takes his hand out. 

They eye it, a glimmer of pride radiating between as they watch the cum oozes over the lines of his palm and between his fingers. 

Bobby reaches for it but B.I pulls it away. 

"This is mine," B.I says slowly and Bobby falters, his hand dropping away. 

B.I turns his head away from it, "I'd like to take you to bed, Bobby." 

He leans back enough for their eyes to meet. 

The way he spoke it didn't sound like a question. But looking at him now, Bobby feels that B.I would always give him room to object. Even now.

Bobby goes to answer, first swallowing and then gathering breath, but his chest jumps so violently.

A physical jump with a high, unexpected sound escaping him.

B.I's eyes widen, surprised by it. But when it comes again, he seems to realize it for what it is and smiles sweetly.

_ Hiccups. _

B.I’s eyes soften into quarter moons.

"How cute," he whispers.

Bobby flushes, eyes darting down and tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth to quiet the sounds.

B.I lays kisses across his features, smiles leaden in each press of his lips.

"Yes," Bobby whispers with another squeaky high note intercutting his words. "Take the–",  _ hiccup, _ "–night."

B.I kisses his forehead even as their bodies both jolt from the force of his breathing abnormality.  

"I'd give you all the time in the world if I had it," B.I whispers before stepping back, leaving Bobby with a massive cold spot on his chest.

B.I still has tenting in his pants, a bold heavy pressure behind the zipper and button of his jeans.

Bobby draws his bottom lip in at the sight, almost biting it as another hiccup racks him.

B.I follows his gaze, looking for all the world undeterred by the massive hard on he still has yet to resolve.

B.I smirks at him, wiping the cum covered hand off on his thigh save for one finger. To which he brings to his lips and sucks clean like a confectionary treat.

"Shall we?" B.I offers him the same hand.

Bobby hiccups again, but he thinks it's the last one.

 

* * *

* * *

 

“There’s no literal dungeon in YG,” B.I muses. Affection and humor slipping in through the tone of his voice.

Bobby lays with his back on the bed, hands up behind his head and sheets twisted over his legs. A total picture of content.

Next to him B.I sits crossed legged. With having found his Armani briefs in the mess of Bobby’s clothes on the floor, they’re the only thing he has on. And Bobby still can’t get over them.

The the two-tone stripes highlighting the narrowness of his waist. The lined eagle accentuating the dip below his belly. The fabric had been so soft to the touch, and Bobby might have let on that he was jealous if he didn’t let slip when taking them off that he thought they made B.I’s dick  _ “expensive”. _

B.I had stared at him when he said it, first from bafflement. But then a smile broke out, growing wider and wider before the strangest garble of a laugh Bobby had ever heard came out of him.

Bobby realizes then that it was the first time he ever heard it and there he was on his knees mentally time stamping the memory next to removing B.I’s designer briefs.

It had a pure sound of unrestrained hilarity, like B.I himself didn't know what to do with such a force. A buildup that just spilled out of him whichever way it needed to. Even his eyes crinkled, the one squinting more than the other.

Bobby's heart tripped over itself once, twice. Tumbled about until he too was laughing a little uncontrollably. However weird B.I's laugh was, it was infectious and Bobby wanted it sealed in music boxes for his own personal enjoyment.

 

 

“Well,  _ they _ wouldn’t call it  _ that, _ ” he says. “But practice rooms are in the basement and you’re there every day for  _ how  _ long?”

“No,” B.I elongates the vowel of his refusal so it sounds more whiny than insistent. “The company doesn’t make those schedules, we do.”

Bobby has since learned that when B.I refers to  _ we _ he’s really just saying  _ ikon and I. _ But Bobby sorta likes that it feels all inclusive. Like he’s already apart of something in B.I.'s narrative.

“Ah,” Bobby amends. “So it’s really,  _ B.I _ ikon’s  _ dungeon master. _ “

B.I momentarily cocks his head back in a way that suggests he's rolling his eyes.

His neck stretches and Bobby wishes it was more than the diffuse of street lights coming in from the closed blinds lighting him right now. Those soft blues and oranges lining his features, and muddying the radiance of his post-coital sheen.

_ Beautiful _ , his mind keeps whispering nonetheless.

They've been talking for a while now. Too tired to keep fucking, but too awake on the precipice of the moment. The topics of music, off stage interests, company life, restaurant work, all came and went. The YG aspect lingering a bit longer than the rest. 

B.I sighs. Bobby softens.

"There are no villains in this quest, Bobby. No final bosses to outwit or wolves to slay. It is only  _ me _ trying to change the industry and asking  _ you _ what side you’d want to be on when it happens." 

"It sounds like a tall order," Bobby mummers. 

B.I shakes his head once, "it's nothing time and hard work can't accomplish."

Bobby can admire that but, "don't you ever get tired of it? All the bureaucratization you have to go through to release the music you want?"

He starts to sit up, feeling the shift in the mood. The seriousness that comes over them. The tension that tightens around his chest. "You say you'll change the name of idols, and I believe you. But you are still someone  _ else's _ investment. Don't you want to be free from that?"

B.I's lips go thin. _Thinking._

They're both treading on thin ice. Neither wanting a fight to break out, but in need to toss every possible pebble and rock until their point is made. 

"I know it sounds tedious," B.I says slowly. "But YG offers a higher platform than anything I could've gotten on my own."

"You'd still have it  _ here _ ," Bobby's voice comes out more heated than he intended. 

B.I's eyes narrow. 

"Doing things on your own is fun and great, I  _ get _ it." His voice too has dropped and Bobby can hear the resolve in it. "But you are not growing as much as you  _ think _ you are."

Bobby bites his tongue. 

"You can not love me and hate YG," B.I says, anger ebbing from his words.

B.I was too aware of his language to say things offhandedly. So Bobby doesn't fail to pick up on the word choice. Not  _ like _ or  _ admire _ , but  _ to _ **_love_ ** . 

Bobby can't tell if he feels exposed or not. But B.I continues on a little rushed now as if he too noticed the heaviness of it. 

"Within YG, behind all the business side of things, is true room to find yourself." B.I's hands splay across the folds in the sheets, fingers dipping in and out of the shadows. 

"It's an environment of true passion and artistry. The producers, the composers, the choreographers, and vocal coaches..." B.I's voice keeps lifting and Bobby can feel the pride in the words, the reasons why B.I is so adamant about staying there. 

"There are just some fucking amazing people working there, Bobby. They are what allow me to chase my dreams and it is to them that I owe my everything. I am  _ here  _ because of them, I am as good as I am today because  _ they _ helped me."

Bobby doesn't know what to say to that, he didn't have access to such luxuries. Everything he did, he did with Minho, and was motivated only by what was around him. 

Yet, he had kept going after B.I. Week after week he had unleashed wasp challenging words out into the open, hoping one would find its mark and sting. 

_ "You attack him as you would a competitor."  _ Minho once told him.  _ "You want him to respond." _

And it was true. 

He sought the attention. And now that he finally had it, he didn't know what to do with it. 

He had fallen deeper into this than planned. 

Once Bobby had fully realized B.I was truly worthy of everything to his name and then some, to be well balanced adversaries wasn't the only relationship Bobby wanted anymore. 

Friendship. Partnership.

B.I lays a hand on his knee and Bobby looks back at him. 

Something _more_. 

The sheets still cover him but he can feel the touch as if it was everywhere on him at once. 

"You have raw talent, Bobby. You wouldn't have made it this far without it," B.I says. And there's a jitteriness to the words. A vulnerability to what he was gearing up to ask, maybe scared of what Bobby would decide. 

"I want to give you the opportunity to refine it. Like I did with mine. Make it stronger, bigger." 

B.I takes his hand off his knee and instead crosses it over his own heart, palm rubbing in while the fingers dig into his chest. A habitual move that B.I doesn’t seem to even notice.

He's  _ nervous _ . And something in that puts Bobby on alert. As if there was a need to protect this boy from all the monsters under his bed, and in the closets, and even the ones that build up inside and take longer to fight. 

"One month," B.I says. "No contracts or paper signing. Let me show you what we're planning and what you'll gain. If you don't like it, then you can leave at any time. I won't ask you again." 

"But..?" Bobby asks. 

"But?" 

Bobby cocks his head, it’s probably from the pounding of his heart but, he's warm and feeling for all the world like he could catch the stars in his hands if he just reached out. 

"You have tale tell signs too," he runs a finger near B.I's eyes. The light twinkles in their depth. 

"Your eyes narrow when you're focused on something," he says. "There's a but."

He still needs time to iron out the feelings twisting around in his gut. The unease, the hesitancy, but also the curiosity to see that inner circle B.I so passionately spoke of. The home where his music comes to life.

It was life-changing. But B.I was offering a chance to try with every possible escape door open. And in his mind, Bobby’s already planning who to ask to cover his shifts, and how to tell his Aunt her favorite nephew might be away from home for awhile. 

B.I catches his hand and spreads it out over his cheek, mouth turning inward to kiss his palm. 

"I don’t think you'll leave," he says softly, wistfully. 

"Is that a dare?"

"If it gets you to say yes, then yes. But it's not." B.I's dark eyes turn to him. Hungry, waiting. 

"Why?" 

"Because you're defiant and bold and people listen whether they want to or not," he says. And then like a confession, "and because you make me better."

The _ irony _ in that, Bobby muses.

"Two weeks," he compromises. 

"Three. And a week to think it over."

"Fine," Bobby agrees. He braids his fingers into B.I's and pulls them in as he falls back against the bed. 

B.I raises to his knees and quickly straddles him. Their other hands already seeking the grip of the other before joining the first set above Bobby's head.

"So that’s a yes?" B.I smiles.

_ "Yes,"  _ Bobby breathes, shaky and low.

The kisses that come are quick and many as B.I peppers them as if he has too much excitement to just focus on only one.  

"B.I," he laughs, squeezing the hands laced with his own. "Kiss me right." 

B.I lets out a slip of that weird contagious laughter, a breathy giggle against Bobby's lips. 

"It's Hanbin," he says. 

Bobby's heart skips a beat, "what?"

B.I sits back up, a soft grin and round eyes looking back at him. 

"My name," he says a little breathlessly. "Is  _ Kim Hanbin. _ "

There’s no waiting for Bobby to comment on it as he slips his hands free from Bobby’s hold and kicks the sheet away from Bobby's legs. 

The air is cool on his dick and it takes Bobby a second to catch up to what's happening. 

"Just thought you'd like to know," B.I says a bit distantly as he lowers his kisses down Bobby's stomach. 

_ Hanbin _ , he repeats.  _ Kim  _ **_Hanbin_ ** **.**

It's a sweet name for flowers and spring days. Perfect for a soft dorky boy who admits to loving choco-cones as a weakness, who dreams in music sheets, and has lips of peony pink and skin of freshly bloomed petals.

_ Hanbin. _

"Kim Jiwon," Bobby says suddenly. Heat rushing to the back of his neck.

The kisses stop abruptly just under his navel. 

Bobby is staring at the ceiling, not sure where the seconds are ticking away to. But eventually he gathers himself enough to peer down the length of his chest to find  _ Hanbin _ looking up at him. 

"My birth name," Bobby clarifies. "I don't use it a lot. And not too many people actually know it."

B.I titters back up on to his hands and knees and crawls over him until their faces align again.

"Thank you," he says sincerely. "For telling me, _ Jiwon. _ "

Bobby drops his head back onto the pillow, his insides feeling suddenly queasy from the somersaults his stomach makes. 

On this boy's tongue, his name sounded dangerous and reckless, like hurricanes on warm waters.

Bobby takes a breath while B.I lowers himself just a little more, ready to catch his lips with his own should they part.

_ "Hanbin," _ Bobby tries. And it comes out so smooth like the picking of honeysuckle. 

The boy closes his eyes to Bobby's voice as if it's a sweet cord of music.

"Again," he says. Eyes blinking open to drag Bobby in. "Say my name again,  _ Jiwon _ ."

Bobby surges up, his heart jumping to his throat and hands going to cradle  _ Hanbin's _ cheeks. 

"Han-bin," he says slowly and then repeats it again and again. 

_ Hanbin. Hanbin. Hanbin. _

The latter wraps his arms around Bobby's shoulders, fingers combing gently through his hair as he comes to sit in the bowl of Bobby's lap. 

" _Kim Jiwon_ ," he whispers into the kiss. "I'm glad to have found you." 

Hanbin rolls forward, tipping Bobby's head back for the height advantage. And Bobby’s hands fall to cup the round of Hanbin’s ass. Earning a moan in return. A humming hungry sound that he can feel right on his tongue.  

And then quietly to himself Bobby thinks,  _ I'm happy you found me too, Kim Hanbin. _

 

 

_ ~ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys!! What shall we swoon over first~? I've had this name exchange thing just WAITING and gah I'm so happy to write Hanbin's name vs B.I haha. But now I'm kinda used to it o-o so do let me know which one you guys prefer to see. 
> 
> Also Bobby going to YG?! Whaaaat? I wonder what will happen... 
> 
> ~
> 
> And I'm so sorry I didn't post within my two week window. I swear I was working on it, but I ended up just rewriting and rewriting that opening at least 20 times. And I just hated everything and I was getting depressed and frustrated. Aby, says it's because Mercury was in retrograde. And you know what? I have to agree because I got better once it ended. So everyone send an fu to the solar system and cookies to [Aby](http://shimco.tumblr.com/). And also [Alexis](http://madamaaubergine.tumblr.com/) who helped beta this as well. 
> 
> But alas we are back on track and hopefully I can keep to the normal schedule. Just trust me I will not let this child go unfinished >~< I'm still not sure how many chapters remain but I think we're past the halfway point. It's just that I start and stop where it feels right so who knows. Right now I'm just happy I got this in before a new month started haha. 
> 
> Also, happy new years everyone! 
> 
> Talk to me on [tumblr](http://coquettish-rap.tumblr.com/) or check out the [playlist](http://coquettish-rap.tumblr.com/clap-for-me-baby) (I'll update it for this chapter and last by monday)


	9. Chapter 9

Bobby doesn't feel the bed shift when Hanbin gets up. Nor does he hear the flush of the toilet, the running of the sink, or even the soft sticky padding of Hanbin's bare feet on the hardwood. 

But Hanbin has to forego his Armani briefs, lost somewhere to the floor's abyss, and settles instead on grabbing the first pants he sees. Which happens to be the sweats Bobby wore the other night. 

It's been a morning since then. But for them, it was all just a pleasant blur. 

With their sleeping patterns forgotten and disrupted for the mere touch of another person. It was hard to say what happened when and where. Just that it did and that they were happy.

These two young rappers, with soft affections and biting words, had spent a night and a day together. Their bodies often tangled in long embraces or moving in toe-curling ways.

And so cartographers they became as they worked endlessly in the dark and in the light to map and remap every dip and curve of their bodies. Looking and searching for the points of eruption where pleading whispers turned to grandiose shouting. 

It was skin on skin and Bobby's mouth sucking up the tang of sweat and licks of floral from head to toe. Just as it was Hanbin's hands exploring all he can touch. Finding that the knots of a muscular back and the ring of words inked there begged to be targeted for kisses and traced with soft fingers when Bobby was bent on all fours in front of him.

And yet Hanbin favored a spot hidden just behind an ear where Bobby's hair started to thin into the neck. Where a single graze, nevermind a soft nuzzle or a kiss, could have the whole of Bobby's being become a trembling mess. 

Bobby knew he was ticklish there, knew enough to scrunch his neck when Hanbin drew close to it. But that shyness only edged Hanbin on more and it was exploited it until it felt as if every nerve ending tripped on all at once and Bobby fell into breathless climaxes. 

There were such spots on Hanbin too, harder to find but there nonetheless. Bobby pleasured in the act of searching. The slow roaming leading up to the grand revelry when Hanbin’s breath would hitch and his crimson burnt lips quickly fold in to stifle the find as if in disagreement with the ways his body bends for it.

And covered were these spots in the crooked teeth marks of Bobby's kisses. From the sensitive inner thighs to the underside of Hanbin's knees and the round of his ass. 

And just above that at the small of his back, laid small dimples of indentations, pleading for the day that Bobby would fill them with his thumbs as he holds Hanbin's angular hips steady. 

But right now, Bobby is sound asleep. 

And Hanbin, even with all the physical tiredness, had an off-beat sleeping pattern anyway. So the boy, awake, hungry, and giving a break to a libido that was only too eager to act up again, is up and about.

  
  


Hanbin weaves around stacked boxes of sodas and beer and past bundles of other restaurant supplies piled up in the hallway. 

It's a wonder that during all their comings and going from the bedroom that neither had yet managed to knock any of it over in their haste. 

But it matters not when Hanbin reaches the fridge. Where, during a raid from only a few hours before, it was graced to Hanbin the knowledge of all its contents. Including a tempting container of maeuntang, that was apparently being cultivated to waste by Bobby. Since noting it in Bobby's presence only rewarded Hanbin in a nasty grimace and a threat that eating it would cancel all mouth to mouth activities thereafter. 

Hanbin had proven that there was plenty of other things to do with his tongue alone, that did not need another mouth. But it was perhaps Bobby that would go stir crazy without shared kisses. 

Plus, being told that  _ "you'll taste like shit" _ wasn't in Hanbin's repertoire of foreplay dirty talk so he let it be. 

But now, Hanbin could eat it and rinse with enough mouthwash for Bobby to never know.

It was such a mildly dangerous prospect. And in all feeling like a mission to steal the Queen’s jewels.

Hanbin needs stealth and luck. And a plan for if he got caught. Perhaps that new found spot on Bobby's neck is more of an asset than previously realized. 

Hanbin sucks a spoon plucked from the dish rack flat against his tongue and opens the fridge. 

The shelves are packed and crowded but the maeuntang shines like a beacon from the back corner. Hanbin reaches in, the chill causing the hairs to rise but in a blink he's holding the huge glass mason jar. The stew sloshing up against the sides as Hanbin weaves it back out past everything else. 

Out of the ikon members, Hanbin's kitchen skills lags the furthest behind with the highlight being able to fry things like eggs,  _ with _ risk of injury, to put in with his ramyun cups. But he knew one person in particular that would have a field day here. 

And to Bobby Hanbin propositioned bringing the whole of his fridge back to the dorms for the simple enjoyment of seeing Yunhyeong's face at the array of possibilities to be capitalized upon here. 

Bobby only laughed, called it excessive, but then offered to bring them all here in the presence of his Aunt who'd pinch their cheeks red and teach Yunhyeong a thing or two. 

It was a pleasant thought. A promise of a future. 

Just as pleasant as twisting off the lid of the jar and meeting the smell of hearty home cooked food. The aromas of simmered fish and peppers envelop him. 

He pulls the spoon out of his mouth and sips the broth. Licks his lips, savoring the taste. How could Bobby hate this? 

He eyes the microwave. 

The stew was ok cold, but could taste better warm. And yet – Hanbin turns to look back in the direction of Bobby's room. The smell would rat him out. 

Hanbin only stands there, attention glued to weighing the pros and cons. So into it is he that he doesn’t hear the apartment door open, the security look giving a beep that signaled the arrival of someone else. 

It’s not until a single scoffed  _ "what the fuck" _ has him jumping enough to almost drop the jar. 

The spoon, however, clatters to the ground before he can fully catch it and from the other side of the wall Minho toes a bundle of clothes out of the way so he can slip his shoes off. 

In his hand, two full bags of McDonald's crinkle as his balance shakes as a too tight of a knot keeps his foot in place. 

"Dude," Minho wheezes out, bent over with blood rushing to his head. "Did you have a strip show in the foyer?"

Back in the kitchen Hanbin finally gets the lid on and looks around to maybe cover his chest with a towel, the marks littered across his skin something not fit for a stranger’s view before eating. 

But he finds nothing readily available, and with one last thunk, Minho finally gets free from his shoe and quickly crosses into the apartment. 

His thick gray socks makes his footsteps silent as he rounds into the kitchen. At first, his eyes staying downcast in order to watch for the lip of floorboards that always manages to trip him. 

He talks before seeing who's really standing there. Thinking this whole time it was just Bobby.

"Why is there a pile of jackets in th—" Minho stops short, he's looked up.  **_"Holy shit."_ **

Minho's mouth forms a little  _ O _ as realization dawns on him. 

Hanbin blinks, black saucer eyes narrowing down on the newcomer. 

"You must be Minho," Hanbin says, but Minho doesn't seem to hear him. 

"Oh my god," Minho sounds like all the breath has left his body with the words.

They both turn their eyes downward. Minho first takes in the shirtlessness. And then the stew cradled in B.I's hands. Which might be in fact  _ his _ portion of maeuntang that Bobby's Aunt had mentioned to him downstairs. 

Hanbin shifts on his feet when Minho gets to noticing the baggy sweats that hang off his hips. Luckily, the worse of the mess was on the inside. But it didn't stop anyone from seeing the budding shape of his thick – "OH."

Minho flushes, "oh–okay." 

Minho turns his eyes away from staring at the outline of Hanbin's length.

"Those are your clothes in the foyer," Minho says before he can stop himself. "Wow, this is awkward."

"Maybe a blanket would help," Hanbin says at random.

The words hang in the air like a cloud not having decided to rain or float on by.

Finally, Minho pokes it.

_ "What?" _

"I heard blankets are good for shock. I was wondering if you needed one."

Hanbin stares. Minho stares. And then like the cracking of ice, Hanbin's face breaks into a grin. Like holding it back was hurting him.

"I'm just fucking with you," Hanbin soundlessly laughs after that. "The look on your face was too good." 

It's then that Minho's mind catches up to him and out of him bubbles an awkward laugh of sorts, but beneath it something so candid and warm. 

"I didn't get what the fuck you were asking me at first," Minho says leaning on the archway for support. "I would need like 50 blankets to get over the fact that I just walked in on ikon's leader half naked in my best friend's apartment."

Hanbin emits a short wild sound, something impossibly human and hard to mimic.

Minho squints at him as if trying to align his mind's eye version of B.I to the boy actually standing in front of him laughing like so.  

Minho hiccups his laugh into silence. Hanbin's own jubilant force starts to simmers.  

"You're nothing of what I expected," Minho says not unkindly. 

"You'd find that most of us aren't."

"Of course. Sorry," Minho carefully avoids making too much eye contact with the red marks on Hanbin's chest. "Well, I called but – yeah I just wanted to make sure Bobby wasn't being a depressed baby about something you might have said."

They stare at each other for a second. 

"I see," Hanbin says quietly. And yet there is something in the way Hanbin says it that implies that he had no such power. That out of the two of them, Hanbin was the one putting the most out on the line and is at risk of rejection.

"I didn't mean," Minho starts but doesn't know what to follow it up with. There was so much he could say. Being the friend, he knew of Bobby's latent obsession with ikon's music. With B.I. But it wasn't his place to share it even if in attempt to comfort Hanbin. 

"He gets weird when you're not around to antagonize," Minho tries to lighten the mood. "So I gotta come over and make sure he's functioning."

"You're a good friend, Minho."

"Well thank you B.I," Minho mocks a bow. "I do suppose greatness recognizes others of the same caliber."

"Perhaps," Hanbin quirks the one side of his mouth into a lopsided grin. "And to think Bobby just calls you a freeloader."

“Right?!” Minho baulks. “The lack of respect.”

"But you brought food," Hanbin hums.

Minho doesn't even look down at the bags he's cinched together in his grip, grease spots already bleeding through to the outside of the paper.  

"And you're holding some damn good maeuntang," he says simply, like it's obvious what they should do next. 

Hanbin gives a conspiratory look, "sounds like a party."

"I'll even break out the embarrassing stories," Minho says with a smug grin of his own. "That way when he refuses to kiss you, you'll have something he'll want to make you shut up about."

"Oh," Hanbin's slight snag of a tooth reveals itself in his grin. "I  _ like _ you."   
  
  


 

* * *

* * *

  
  
  
"Minho?" Bobby stops in the archway to his living room, still wiping the sleep from his eyes.

The bed was cool when he woke up, but the voices he heard from down the hall promised him that  _ Hanbin _ , was still around. 

So out he came in with nothing but his purple and white polka dot boxers, his favorite ones. Rather thinking it was voices from the tv and not Minho and Hanbin sitting aside pools of McDonald’s wrappers and empty bowls, looking more or less like they're plotting against him. 

The two other males look up from their positions at the coffee table. Hanbin with a certain bright-eyed adoration that Bobby shys at. And Minho with a cocked brow, stare zeroing in on the visible bruisings of love prints formed under Hanbin's careful grip.

Bobby sniffs the air, they made something. Probably something he wouldn't approve of. He eyes the bowls on the table. 

"Did you make that seafood crap," He asks, noting the shared look passed between them at the mention of it. 

"Really," Minho admonishes. "If your Aunt could hear the way you talk about her food."

Bobby makes a tsking sound, hitches up his waistband and crosses to the table to snatch up the remaining bag of McDonald’s. 

"So what are you doing here, Minho?"

Minho flicks his wrist towards him but speaks to Hanbin. 

"You see what I have to go through? 

Hanbin spares Minho a pitying look, "yes but just imagine him times five."

Minho shakes his head in mock despair. 

"You must be given more credit," Minho says. "Still taking him in when you know he'll just drive you up the wall."

"Yes," Hanbin smiles dangerously as he turns to look back at Bobby. "But at least I know where his off buttons are."

Hanbin gives a try at a wink. Still learning that seduction point apparently. But it still gets Bobby choking on the chicken nugget rammed into his mouth. 

Minho laughs with self-deprecation, clearly not into learning the extent of their sexual explorations, but loving the joke nonetheless. 

"You told him?" Bobby manages, diverting any wandering minds away from what Hanbin said, including his own. 

Hanbin looks momentarily surprised, "about your—"

"About ikon!" Bobby cuts him off quickly. 

"Oh," Hanbin looks to realize his fault sheepishly and glances to Minho. "Well, he..."

"I figured it out on my own," Minho says. "You know, cause I have a college education and because you both greeted me half dressed."

Minho's teasing him and Bobby just gives him a frown.

"He asked and I didn't say otherwise," Hanbin clarifies. 

"I'm sworn to secrecy," Minho whispers with a hand cupped to the side of his mouth as if he and Bobby were having a side conversation. 

The light twinkles devilishly in his eyes and Bobby just snorts. 

"Why don't you come take a seat," Minho gestures to the spot on the other side of the table. "Unless that's uncomfortable for you." 

Minho raises his tone into that of a question. Obviously gloating over the fact that he knew Bobby could verse. But as for the last two nights, it was fairly obvious what role Bobby took. 

Bobby was not ashamed of it but, if he could just knock that  _ I told you so voice _ from Minho's current attitude he would.

Bobby huffs, stuffs another piece of chicken into his mouth and in one fell swoop gets himself sitting crossed legged across from them. Looking quite smuggish of himself, even while ignoring the twinge in his lower back from it.

He raises a french fry towards Minho in salute and stuffs that into his mouth too. Minho bows his head and circles his wrist graciously in return. 

Bobby feels something touch his leg and glances towards Hanbin.

Hanbin smiles back and brings his chin to rest on the fold of his fist, elbow on the table. The last time they sat across from each other here, Hanbin had crawled across the surface to get to him.  

Bobby tries not to think too much about it with Minho present, but he can tell by the look Hanbin has on that it's a shared memory at the present moment.

Bobby reaches down and traces a finger over the top of Hanbin's foot. It's enough to sidetrack them both, he also brings it to rest on his inner thigh and smirks back.

"So," he says, turning back to Minho. "What have you two been talking about?"

"Oh," Minho shrugs. "We talked about different things, nothing in particular." 

"Really?" Bobby doubted Minho resisted the urge to say something to damn him. 

“Is there something you wanted me to avoid?" Minho raises a brow and one corner of his mouth follows. 

_ The bastard, _ Bobby thinks. 

"I have nothing to hide," he says evenly. Despite there being a few things that he hopes get buried deep down with him in his grave. 

Hanbin snorts then, "even your love song to pork noodles?"

Bobby reels, "what?"

Hanbin smirks as he sings back the song Bobby once wrote,  _ “Gogi guksu, Oh–” _

Bobby traces the curve of Hanbin's foot, a ticklish touch point that has Hanbin ending in a yelp and accidentally kneeing the underside of the table in his haste to get away. 

"What the fuck," Bobby now turns on Minho but grabs Hanbin by the ankle to keep his foot in his lap. Then touches the same spot again just to see Hanbin fidget. 

Minho takes in the exchange with amusement, and then cracks a shit eating grin at Bobby. 

"What?" He says, "it's not my fault that you got so drunk while eating and I recorded it."

Bobby lunges for the phone sitting at the edge of the table, suddenly shouting.

"You said you deleted it!"

"I lied," Minho holds his phone an arm's reach away from Bobby.

"Delete it now!" Bobby orders, slapping a hand on the table in front of Minho.

"No way," Minho objects. "I'm gonna sell it to your fansites when you get more famous."

"You wouldn't."

"Wanna try me?"

Bobby whines loudly before flopping back down, forgetting about his back and making a grimace at the soreness. 

"I thought the part where you got the ahjusshi to sing with you was endearing," Hanbin comforts. Leaving the  _ but you were so fucking drunk that it was hilarious _ unsaid.

Bobby moans and bangs his head down on to the table.

"You two are the worst," he mumbles. 

He feels Hanbin's fingers comb through his hair and he turns to the touch. 

"Not to pop this bubble," Minho starts and Bobby cracks an eye open at him. "But when are you going to tell your Aunt that her favorite nephew is going away and if it's possible that she can send food to the dorms."

Hanbin takes a sharp intake, "you think she'll deliver to the YG dorms?"

Minho stares back at him, not seeming to want to break his heart, but does so anyway. 

"I meant  _ actual _ dorms at the university."

Bobby snorts at the small frown Hanbin gives his friend. 

"She'll probably give it to the woman shelters in the province. Which is what she already does with the other extras that don't fit in the fridge."

"I thought she cooked separately for them," Minho says.

"That too."

Neither of the two males seem ready to dispute that. 

"I'll tell her today," Bobby says into the table still. And then in afterthought. "I also make sure she still puts food up here for her favorite freeloader." 

Minho looks momentarily excited before recognizing the diss. Then it's Hanbin's turn to smile back while Minho frowns at them both. 

The comfortable weight of Hanbin's hand slides away and Bobby looks up to wonder where it went. 

"Look at you two," Minho side eyes them now. "First you're trying to castrate each other on stage and now you're both softer than fucking rice cakes." 

Bobby smiles, glancing at Hanbin. "I think he's jealous."

"I think he's displacing the fact that he’ll miss you not being around," Hanbin whispers. 

"Aw Minho," Bobby sits back up. "I'll still call you."

Minho gives a helpless look to the ceiling, "yes I'm so depressed that my wishes came true and I'll have all this free time to actually sleep."

Hanbin puts his hand on Minho's arm and everyone's eyes go to it. 

"I promise to take care of him," he says. Probably sincerely but in the moment it feels like another tease. 

Minho huffs, "I'm not concerned." 

"I'll miss you too," Bobby says. "And who knows, I might come back early."

"I doubt it," Minho says. 

Bobby cocks his head to the side, "Hanbin said the same thing."

The name still gives him a pleasant tingle to say. It's still an intimate newness. One which Hanbin, across from him seems to soften at, his chin dipping down to hide the faint curl of his lips. 

Bobby sinks lower to try and catch it.

"It's just because we know what's best for you," Minho casts them a curious stare. Not missing the drop in honorifics either. 

Bobby straightens. 

"Why does it feel like you two are going to talk about me behind my back."

"Because we will," Minho says matter of factly, as if it was something they've already been doing.

"You two only  _ just _ met today right?" Bobby points accusingly at them. "Not that this was some secret setup."

Hanbin snorts, "if that was the case then I would have planned to not be walked in on half dressed in cum pants raiding a fridge."

"Also," Minho choughs at that to dislodge the hearing of said fact. "That makes it sound like a paying position. To which I then would have been convincing you to join a whole lot sooner."

"If it paid, you would have just dumped me on YG's front steps."

"Not before splitting the money with you and making sure you had your toothbrush and a change of underwear." 

Minho does a cute finger gun motion.

Bobby snorts at the same time Hanbin whispers,  _ "what a friend." _

"But really," Minho says his voice catching on the serious tone. "Good luck and whatnot. Tell me how it goes." 

"Don't be like that," Bobby whines. "It's not like I'm leaving the country."

"Yeah," Minho quips. "But you'll be locked in the infamous YG dungeon. I don't have the key to that."

"Oh, for the love of –," Hanbin slaps the table. "It's  **_not_ ** _ a dungeon _ !"

But he's laughing by the time he finishes saying it, that odd shitfaced hyena cry that gets Bobby and Minho side splitting into their own laughs. 

"You've got to learn how to laugh," Minho cries. "But at the same time, like,  _ don’t _ ."

Bobby chuckles like crinkled plastic and Hanbin this time sounds like he's trying to stop himself but it instead makes the noise even weirder. 

Bobby thinks it’s better than his other favorite sounds. The hum of speakers or the tapping of the mic before a diss. Hanbin had something raw and Bobby loves it.

  
  


* * *

* * *

  
  
  
Bobby picks up another shirt from one of his makeshift piles and folds it into the backpack he found buried in his closet. 

He doesn't even remember keeping it. But apparently, it's been there since his high school graduation, considering the amount of pencils and candy wrappers littered on the bottom. He dumped it into the garbage and then proceeded to sit on the floor with the stuff needed for a  _ possible _ three-week stay at YG. 

As the bag gets fuller and heavier the more surreal it feels. 

_ He was going to YG. He was going to work with Hanbin, with ikon. This was a thing and it was happening. _

Surreal and yet exciting. He couldn't tell what his heart was beating faster for.

"Tell me what you packed so far," Hanbin draws from his perch on Bobby's bed. 

Bobby folds another tee shirt into the bag. He’s wondering how many hoodies he should bring. And if any of his snapbacks. 

"I thought you were watching."

Hanbin hums a little, the sound marking his nonverbal  _ yeah but... _ , "I was watching something else."

Bobby looks up at that, "like what?"

Hanbin only replies with a  _ not telling you _ grin.

Bobby looks down at himself, baggy sweats, white tee. There was nothing thrilling about his fashion or body at the moment that could be deemed attention worthy. Hanbin could just be implying him as a whole, but if that suspicious smile was a clue then Bobby was right to feel it was something more specific. 

"Tell me what you have," Hanbin asks again. He slouches forward more as if bored by the current progression of things. Even his fingers idly play with Pooh's arms. Bobby's endeared plush friend tucked into the space of Hanbin's cross-legged lap.

Bobby glances down at him now. The yellow bear sitting aside Hanbin's thighs where the length of borrowed boxers inch up, but not indecently. 

At the attention, Hanbin puppets the tip of Pooh's arm to wave at him. 

Bobby huffs, looking back up at Hanbin's face, hooded by another burrowed article of clothing. It turns out that this boy had a thing for sharing clothes even before Bobby put all of theirs from the past two nights into the wash and set them to drip dry in the bathroom.

"Well I was thinking seven of everything but pants," Bobby leans back onto his outstretched arms. "Whatever I wear today will count as extra and I'm guessing I'll be able to wash my stuff there too."

Hanbin is eyeing his open bag in the same way Bobby is silently, and begrudgingly, feeling about it. 

It's too small, but neither of them is voicing it. And yet, it's quite obvious that he'll need to either cut down on what to bring or get a second bag. Considering that the shirts alone have filled it to the brim.

"Just give the clothes to Chanwoo," Hanbin says a bit distractedly and then falls back onto the bed with a sigh. A second later his hand snakes down to drag Pooh up onto his chest.  

"He does all the laundry for the dorm every three days as his house chore. I mean not that you can't do it yourself, but he gets weird about it."

Bobby chuckles, that dry crinkly sound.

"That's unavoidable since I know there are some things I'd think we rather have to wash ourselves."

"No?" Hanbin says, not getting the idea.

"Even our sheets, Hanbin?"

It goes silent, just the muffled chatter and the bustle of the downstairs restaurant open for the late afternoon rush. 

And then Hanbin's, "oh."

He heaves it on a breath of mirth. A  _ whoosh _ of sound that Bobby shakes his head too. 

"He would hold that over us forever," Hanbin whispers. "Unless we use the shower more."

"Right," Bobby grunts. "As if YG will be some spa and my legs won't feel like jelly after a practice run with you."

Hanbin's still crossed legs flap in what Bobby thinks is a why that shows Hanbin’s humor in what he said funny. 

"But you're in shape," Hanbin muses. 

"I'm not a dancer," Bobby comments. "Tell me there's no dancing."

"Sometimes life is hard and full of harsh experiences," Hanbin tries to philosophize. "But I think you'll surprise yourself."

Bobby scoots closer to the bed, reaching up. 

"Why's that?" He hums.

"You have good hips."

Bobby digs his fingers between the bend of Hanbin's knees. A surprised breath and a jolt comes from the unexpected touch. 

"What are you doing?" Hanbin asks but doesn't fight him when Bobby tugs his limbs out of their interlocked positions. 

He yanks Hanbin closer to the edge until his legs dangle freely, toes just scarcely touching the floorboards. 

"Nothing," Bobby says innocently enough. 

Bobby runs his hands down the back of calf muscles to Hanbin's ankles and back up. Squeezing the muscle to massage it as he goes. 

On his third round, he leans forward and presses a kiss to the side of Hanbin's knee. 

He doesn't expect much from it, but Hanbin suddenly sits up. Their eyes catching each other's stare. And just as Pooh finishes his limp rolls on the clean bed sheets Hanbin has landed on his knees spread above Bobby's lap.

Bobby steals a breath and Hanbin brings their faces closer. 

"We don't have time for this," Hanbin whispers, but his hand is right under Bobby's chin bringing it up with just a finger. 

Bobby palms the soft flesh of Hanbin's thighs now, continuing his massage from before upwards. Kneading right to the spot where he can feel the high arch of Hanbin's ass start. 

"Tell me what to pack," Bobby whispers slowly. "Then we'll have time for  _ this _ ."

The tips of his fingers traces that velvet crease and Hanbin's breath hitches just enough to be audible. 

He shakes his head barely enough to count as a disapproval. But then, on a single breath, Hanbin starts talking with a low calm and in quick succession as if building up to a finale. 

"You'll change your shirt at least twice a day, because of practice. Taking in Chanwoo's washing routine that's a minimum of six shirts. Keep the seven socks and boxers if you want and pack three pants. Two sweats. One jean. Anything after that is up to you. Sleepwear optional, obviously." A smirk edges along his words from that. "Or cut the minimum to four and just borrow my clothes. Or bring nothing but yourself."

"So sweating in Gucci," Bobby breathes.

Hanbin makes a small tsking sound, like Bobby broke the suspense that was building.  

“Not all my clothes are designer label."

"If you say so," Bobby pulls Hanbin’s hips in closer. "And what of supplies? For  _ us _ ."

A wicked grin comes across Hanbin's face, his sable eyes lidded as his touches the tip of his nose to Bobby's. 

"Oh Jiwon," the sound of his birth name makes him shiver. "What makes you think I don't have any?"

Hanbin's lips touch his but not to kiss, not yet. But Bobby's eyes flutter close instantly.

"After all," Bobby feels the words spoken right on him. "I've been waiting for you."

Bobby goes for the kiss before the last syllable fully ends. His hands squeezing where they lay on Hanbin's thighs until Hanbin pushes him back.

"You should really pack," Hanbin says. And Bobby can tell he's trying to be serious, but he's so breathy and non-committal sounding about it.

That and Hanbin is pushing him backwards onto the floor into his piles of clothes. 

"I'll get to it," Bobby says but doesn't. 

Not with Hanbin's tongue in his mouth and hands looking to remove his shirt. 

_ Just a few minutes more, _ he thinks.  _ They'll get to it in a moment. _

Or _ two.  _ __  
__  
  


* * *

* * *

  
  
  
They're late getting out of the apartment. 

Hanbin's manager, the plump round face guy, who nearly whacked Bobby with a door, looks both sickly pale and livid when they finally make it to the van.

The paleness goes away first. But the lividness gets directed into a stare aimed right at Hanbin.

Hanbin fidgets. 

So they might have gone over the agreed upon pick up time by an hour. And they can't even blame it on packing since Bobby decided to go with the minimal approach and just share the rest idea. 

"Get in," the guy says and swing back around to get into the driver seat. 

Bobby could see why he was mad. A black van with tinted windows, forced to idle on a busy street? It was obvious what kind of people traveled in such transports. 

Bobby doesn't even bother to look around to see if anyone had stopped to watch. He just watches the door slide open.

It feels different since the last time he was about to enter. Less anger, more excitement. 

Hanbin makes a motion for him to go first. Their eyes locking for a moment in their hesitancy, that wordless  _ this is the moment to say no  _ notion.

Bobby steps in. 

"Sit in the back," Hanbin says from behind him and Bobby obeys it. 

The doors close, their bags drop, and they're sitting next to each other on the long connected seat with the whole of the van stretched out before them.

"I see that it's cleaner," Bobby notes the lack of clothes and miscellaneous wrappers. But saying it was just a matter of small talk to ease the nerves that were starting to build. 

"Junhoe decided to clean it the other day. Wasn't that nice of him?" But something in Hanbin's tone made it a mocking nice rather an honest one. 

"You made him do it," Bobby clarifies.

"Of course I fucking made him do it," Hanbin snaps. "And then I gave him a lesson on first impressions."

Bobby snorts and Hanbin turns to look at him. 

"You still have lipstick on your cheek," his thumb is already against the tip of his tongue before Bobby can get to it himself.

Before leaving they paid farewells to his Aunt. Even though she knew hours ahead of time that he was leaving, it hadn’t stopped her from holding his face with both hands and kissing his cheeks until he pleaded mercy.

It was another reason why they were late. But at least for that, they got food.

Hanbin rubs at the red smear until he's satisfied, but then it just feels like a cool wet spot on Bobby's skin. 

Bobby rubs it off on his shoulder. 

After that, they stay silent. Just the noises of the road and the traffic of Seoul filling in for them. 

It's a weird silence. One where both have things to say, but not sure if it's right time to say it. For how can Bobby say  _ I’m doing this for you _ when Hanbin just itches to say  _ I know you'll like it there. _

Instead, Hanbin's hand lightly cups his knee and Bobby leans his head on to Hanbin's shoulder. Support and comfort.    
  
  
  
He doesn't remember falling asleep. Maybe it came on him from the lack of what he had last night. Or more likely, it was the way Hanbin's hand always seems to find the right places to rub circles on him.

Either way it was clear now, in some out of body way, that Bobby had gone from watching cars fly past on the freeway to Hanbin nudging him awake.

He could see the manager just outside the van’s open door casually talking with a security guard dressed in black, a two-letter logo stitched in on his jacket to match the building behind them.

Bobby's stomach bottoms out past the floor and his heart follows it down. 

_ This is real, _ he thinks.

He looks back at Hanbin just in time to catch the slow spreading smile.    
  
"Welcome to YG, Bobby."   


 

 

 

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little late but I'm getting them up~ hoo aren't you excited? We finally it made it to the YG doors. Oh my. Well can't say it's official yet, Bobby might still runaway. Just kidding. Tell me which members you guys are looking forward to meeting the most! 
> 
> Also, to answer two questions.  
> 1\. Will we meet any labelmates? (Big Bang, Winner, etc) - Probably not? I kinda only want to focus on ikon. Though we might meet a producer. But that's a big maybe lol.  
> 2\. Where is the smut?! - Dear child it is coming lol I have more nc-17 things coming. It's just that for double b's first nights together I didn't want it to be a distraction? Like honestly I just go with the flow. If my flow says flirting but no smut then I listen. 
> 
> Last but not least do check out my amazing and beautiful beta who keep me sane and help bottle feed this fic when I get cranky. [Aby](http://shimco.tumblr.com/). Also thanks to Alexis.
> 
> And ofc, find me on [tumblr](http://coquettish-rap.tumblr.com/) where the anon feature is always on and also where you can find the rwm [playlist](http://coquettish-rap.tumblr.com/clap-for-me-baby)  
> See you next update guys!


	10. Chapter 10

Being lead out of the van held by the hand is no small feat. But it is exactly what Hanbin has to do with him.  

It’s with a sly smile that Hanbin pulls Bobby's hood up and begins to lead him through the narrow aisle of the van's interior.

A clumsy task at Hanbin’s determined speed since Bobby's clothes and shoes seem to snag on every hook and armrest in the process. So he more so falls out of the vehicle than gracefully hop out like Hanbin manages to do. 

Bobby knows he's supposed to keep his head down and yet, instantaneously, he refuses to move. Hanbin tugs him, but all Bobby does is dig his heels in deeper.

The moment called for ogling, even if there wasn't that much to really _stare_ at.

They’ve parked under the roofed artist entrance, where the early hues of the golden sunset peek in at them through the open sides. The fiery rays reaching in to warm the dark of corners slated in the dark grey of the concrete.

Bobby takes a breath. Realization has careened into him at a faster speed he was expecting. For he knows that the _roof_ above their head was no **_roof_ ** at all, but rather a very large overhang of the building itself.  

Just a small paw to the dominant beast with sliding glass doors for a mouth and a history that belittles Bobby's own.

Hanbin tugs again and this time Bobby lets him.

With their fingers braided and Bobby still in a stifling daze, he squeezes the hand within his. And Hanbin whether he does it from his own excitement or to make sure Bobby didn't get all lost puppy dog on him, squeezes back.  

They step through the doors, and it's only Hanbin who looks back. Maybe checking to see if Bobby's heavy body was still attached to the limb he was holding. Or perhaps, it was to catch the defining moment when the doors close behind them, solidifying that Bobby was indeed on the _right_ side of them.  

There's a dangerous edge to the way Hanbin looks at him. The way his eyes swallow the light while a smirk betrays his satisfaction. It foreshadows the hell of hard work seen by these walls and the joy of sharing it.

Bobby pulls his hand away.  

Hanbin slows down to get shoulder to shoulder with him and gestures in a way that Bobby knows will have him being touched again. A firm grip to his nape or a push on his lower back.

Those were Hanbin's favored guiding spots. But Bobby side steps his hand and comes to a stop.

So too does Hanbin. His palm still offered up for Bobby to take.   

But Bobby doesn't go for it and for the second where wordless conversations become tales woven into minuscule shifts in their posture or the aversion of their eyes, they become more and more like two squared off soldiers.  

Despite what Hanbin might be fearing right now, Bobby isn't rejecting him.

He knows in a way Hanbin was using the skinship as a means to calm down his own nerves. But Bobby is suffocating under all the new sensory stimulation. 

There's an essence in the air. Something charged and weighted.

He can _feel_ it. The way it crawls over his skin like angry snakes. Their bodies slithering and tightening around him.

Already there’s a cold sweat breaking out on his neck, the chill of icing his spine. And his breathing. How ragged it’s getting, as if the air was suddenly too thick to fit into is lungs.

Bobby bites his tongue. Not realizing at first the metallic taste blossoming up as he tries to divert his attention.

His eyes are darting around now, jumping from one glamoured face to another as he thinks the posters hanging up in this hall are watching him. The walls themselves closing in on him.

And this is why he can’t let Hanbin touch him right now.

He was trying to save himself from the drowning that would surely escalate if Hanbin so much as brushed up against him. For Hanbin’s presence alone was sandpaper to dry matches. 

So Bobby severs it.

He needs to think rationally. Calm down and come to terms with things himself. 

Hanbin drops his hand,"I want to show you something."

He says it so seriously. And then just turns back around to continue down the hall. Not even looking to see if Bobby was following.  

Bobby tries to breathe and for the first time here, he looks back behind him.

They've already walked in so far. But what snags Bobby’s eye the most is one very familiar face and five others staring back at him.

Time has changed their looks since this debut photo, but behind the youth and the inexperience, Bobby thinks he can see the hunger. Especially in the unfilling black eyes of their leader.

"Hanbin," Bobby calls, he's still transfixed on the photo. Caught in that stare, as he always is. "Wait up."

He finally turns, and hopes Hanbin didn't hear the way his voice went up a pitch, or shakes even as he tries for a joke.  

"Are you taking me to the dungeons?" He's jogged the distance Hanbin put between them until he's just peering over Hanbin's shoulder at the glowing directional lift button pressed in upon the wall.

Bobby doesn't have to see Hanbin's eye roll, he hears it in the way Hanbin sighs.

"There are no dungeons in _this_ building, Jiwon."

Hanbin gives him a curious look from under his lashes.

Bobby swallows, a zing running up his spine.

"In **_this_ ** building," Bobby repeats slowly.

The elevator dings, an echo of his own reoccurring thought.  

Hanbin gestures for Bobby to step in first and Bobby does so backwards as to no lose eye contact.

Hanbin follows him. Their reflections warping and merged in bent colors on the chrome detailing of the panels.

"And what of the _other_ buildings?" Bobby asks, watching as Hanbin makes a jab at a number in the floor selector.

Hanbin is still turned away when he replies, "I don't know what you're trying to imply, but—"

Hanbin suddenly steps back across the distance, and turns, eyes aligned with his, "with all this talk of such places..."

He pauses, and Bobby presses back against the wall. He notes the careful space Hanbin has left between them. Some mere inches that feel like nothing at all as Bobby's both rots and boils from the inside out. Anxiety and lust all merged together in a confusing mix.

Hanbin appears to study him, "it makes me wonder if you're one to like being tied up."

Bobby smiles, not from humor but just because it's currently the only thing his body seems to remember how to do.

"How do you figure that?"

"Dungeons, chains," Hanbin shrugs. "They go hand in hand don't they?"

"I don't think so," Bobby fesses.

"You still haven't answered the other question," Hanbin's eyes flick down to his wrists.

"It wasn't a question," Bobby's whisper comes out strained, a squeak. His heart pounds now for more than just his agitation.

Hanbin makes a thoughtful hum and then steps away.

"Do you.." Bobby can't bring himself to finish it. Did Hanbin _want to do it_ to him? Or did Hanbin _want it_ done to himself? Did Bobby even _want_ that at all?

There's a pause, in which Hanbin appears to catch up with the implications of his flirting. Sometimes too into a flow to not miss saying the perfect line, but then later comes to realize it might have been too much.

It makes sex talk a dangerous, surprising bag of unethical fun. Though Bobby senses Hanbin wasn't trying to go down that path right now on purpose.

"No, not particularly," Hanbin turns around. A little quieter he adds, "I like your hands all over me and mine on you– unrestrained."

Bobby's toes curl up in his shoes. He thinks he prefers it that way too.

 

 

The elevator doors open up to two pink eared boys. One better at hiding it than the other. Not that anyone was really there to see them to comment on it anyway.

Hanbin leads him down the hallway. This one bathed in warm lighting and carpeted flooring.

It offers coziness and serenity, unlike the entrance hall. And it does well to sooth the rampage and turmoil going on under Bobby's skin.

His guts still twisting as they pass one door and another and another. Each one with large sheets of treated glass that made everything look foggy and shadowy.

On the walls between them, sat perfectly aligned, are the bright metallic colored disks of songs Bobby knows. That everyone knows. The difference between gold and silver changing elusive listeners into numbers.

He notes the lack of ikon's though, and has a hard time believing that he can’t remember if they had ever broken through to those high numbers. He would have sworn that they did.

"We're here," Hanbin has a hand on one of the identical doors, its keypad already glowing green and awaiting the moment it opens.

"My home away from home," Hanbin smiles, but it looks forced, like he's seconds away from crying instead.

Bobby straightens, a sick feeling rushing up from within him.  

He's on verge of asking what's wrong when Hanbin lets the door swing open. It's a silent reveal but it comes like fighter planes over an empty beach.

Bobby feels the clap of the sound barrier the second the door knocks against the wall.

The lights flick on instantaneously and the studio space within welcomes him with a lover’s whisper.

Bobby sucks a breath in. He thinks he suddenly _gets_ it.

That the monster inside these walls is really no monster at all. But rather a beast twining itself between his legs looking for attention.

Its nudges were strong but harmless. Something pure, unfiltered, and unadulterated. And when Bobby takes his first step into the room, he feels the purrs of its approval thrum through him with so much raucousness that he sways.  

His worry is forgotten as he takes in the large desk beside him with club speakers right there imposing the quality of sound permitted here.

And standing there in its own space, Bobby spies the glinting of a recording mic. All silver and boxy with a spit guard in place.

He wants to use it _so_ badly.

That something, that's so official and professional. It reminds him once again of their differences.

With his money always kept close, Bobby opted for quiet rooms with just him and his phone speaker. Bootlegged audio programs to compile the tracks together and posting them up on free online streaming accounts.

But this, _this was legit_.

And even though Bobby has had enough money saved aside to at least buy himself a professional grade mic and keyboard. Hanbin has that and so much more.

For god's sake, there's even a soundboard with lights and switches. Managing to only be dwarfed by the screens of dual black pc monitors and a leather wheeled chair that looks too good to just be picked up at some low key office store.

This was YG money. _This_ , was YG influence.

The door closes silently behind them and all sound just dies. A perfect calm.

But there was a disruptor building in Bobby's system. Much like what comes with the flash of strobe lights and the rush of commanding a stage.

It's the euphoria of getting a great hook or landing the winning line in a diss battle. Or the frenzy of a crowd chanting his name and the sweat rolling down his neck.

His heart is the pounding of bass, his breathing the pattern of electric beats.

It was all of what he loved and harbored.

This was music at its rawest form. Inspiration and motivation seeping in through every pore in the woodwork, every crack in the paneling. Even the vents pushed enthused air in a room after room for him to breathe.

All that trepidation he felt walking up here breaks and he feels the waver in his voice because of it. But also the conviction, the focus, and the need to move.

The need to do _something_. To run to that mic and record _something_ , **_anything_**. And to let it be fire, for it burn him alive.

But all he does is stand there with Hanbin at his back as he says, _"it's beautiful."_

He doesn't hear Hanbin move. Nor does he remember turning away from the equipment to look at him. But Hanbin's standing there beside him, his eyes steady like he's been watching Bobby carefully.

Then little by little, they soften as Hanbin's grin slowly cracks open into a full tooth smile. And then shies it away by ducking his head. As if seeing his happiness was a vulnerable thing.

Bobby's heart sings. He suddenly wants to reach out. He's been brought into a personal space. Hanbin's _second home_ as he called it.

Bobby feels the weight of it. Feels the lightless that lifts him. Like first time kisses and shared stages together.

It was this. And it was that. It was whatever intimate thing Bobby could glean from Hanbin.

He takes in the space again and only then does he realize the quiet definitions of Hanbin's presence here. Details that were as minimal as Hanbin believes himself to be.

The posters, thoughtfully angled on the room's walls depict old movie couples and albums of worth. They were insights to Hanbin's romance and idols.

And in stacks all over the room were books. An array of paperback titles including the one his own Aunt cried over after seeing it in a drama.

Poetry. They were all _poetry_ books.

They spill over the small black leather couch and curl with dog-eared pages on the second keyboard with a window view. While maybe Hanbin’s most recent favorites buy the space on his desk.

"Here," Hanbin starts. Seeming to remember himself. "Come sit."

Hanbin bounds over to the desk, swiveling the chair around and even that has marks of wear and dainty faded flower stickers stuck to its arms.

It reminds him of the ones on Hanbin's phone. And Bobby wonders if perhaps smaller hands have done this too or if it was a thing Hanbin particularly enjoyed for himself.

Hanbin leans over and starts reaching around to the various power buttons, bringing to life the computer screens and speakers.

He twists a knob here and pulls out the mouse from somewhere else. And then, with pause, picks up two decorative bottles and within them warms a glow of fairy lights.

Bobby cocks his head but takes the seat.

"To set the mood," Hanbin leans in closer to say that.

"Oh?" Bobby's brow raises and scoots in closer. "Kim Hanbin, have you been making sex songs without my knowledge?"  

Hanbin smiles again, "am I to believe that you never made one?"

Bobby gets an arm to the desk and leans his head on his hand. His heart is still beating so fast, his stomach a whirlpool. But seeing that smile, being this close to the birthplace of Hanbin's music dampens most of it.

"Well, anything becomes a sex song if you thrust your hips enough."

Bobby watches the apple of Hanbin's throat bob with a swallow. That moment of thought being processed.

"So I want to show you this _not-a-sex_ song," Hanbin turns back to the screens. Bobby crinkles his laugh at the aversion to his joke.

"I think you'll recognize it," Hanbin talks distractedly now. His attention zeroed in on the colored boxes that pop up across the screen. Each one a capsule of different sound waves.

Bobby sits up straighter, his legs starting to bounce as he follows Hanbin's cursor as it soars to and fro.

"I kept a guide track on if you need it," Hanbin looks at him. "But I don't think you'll need it."

The song plays the instant Bobby looks him in the eye.

Bobby smiles. A wicked thing, as a familiar beat loops itself and then Hanbin's voice comes sharp and clean in through the speakers.

It’s their second stage song, the first one Hanbin ever gave him back on that internationally traveled flash drive.

It sounds just as it did that day, but where there were once empty gaps for Bobby to set up his bars, comes instead a scratchy audio clip of **_his_** _own_ voice firing back through the speakers.

"I had to cut it from a video. So the quality is quite low," Hanbin brings his tongue to the corner of his mouth, his attention still on the screens as he stands back up.

"You want me to rerecord it," Bobby practically bounces in his seat. He thinks more than a few of his feelings have changed since the first time he rapped this song. But when Hanbin pulls the silver studio mic closer to him, he’s only hearing himself mentally chanting _yes, yes, I'll do it._

"Bobby," Hanbin suddenly drops to a knee in front of the chair.

Bobby's stomach somersaults. He doesn’t know what’s going on.

"I know you're nervous," Hanbin says, he carefully places a hand on Bobby's thigh. His eyes dropping as he looks to maul over his next words.

 _Stop_ , Bobby thinks. He can see that self-mutilation in Hanbin's expression. He _recognizes_ it.

He starts to reach for him, his hand visibly shaking. But when Hanbin looks up, it's Bobby who stops.

They both swallow.

"I don't think I'm so good at _this_ ," Hanbin's thumb flinchingly moves over his leg. "But I _really_ am glad you're here, Bobby. I won't ever say that enough."

Breathing hurts. Mainly because Bobby can't pinpoint what the _this_ Hanbin thinks he's bad at.

Music? _Impossible_. Emotion? _He makes it poetry._ Leading? _Apparently effortlessly._ Love? Intimacy?

Bobby swallows thickly. _No, you are worthy of love,_ he thinks. _Kim Hanbin, you are worthy of love. Who has taught you otherwise?_

"If you could think of this as a gift for accepting the challenge," Hanbin whispers. "Something to remember when it gets hard."

When the song ends, Bobby's own heart dies along with it.

The room lapses into a deathly silence.

Bobby doesn't want to think about it. What Hanbin is saying, what his words are revealing. That Hanbin is just as aware of the possibility of Bobby leaving as Bobby is of wanting to stay.

Two different things. Two different fears. The prospect of _them_ hanging in the air above it all.

And what could Bobby say? He couldn't promise anything. At least not yet. Not when he still has no idea of what to expect.

He's been at this alone for so long. And Hanbin. He's been surrounded by others. Had the strength of a team. But he spoke as if he knew loneliness. As if he saw it in Bobby too.

How could Bobby protect someone from that?

Kneeling there before him was not the rapper who shredded him with steadfast lines and rhythms. Nor was it the teasing boy he met in the van or the lover he woke up next to a morning ago.

"Thank you," he says to a boy thrusted into a leadership role, putting all he had on the line simply because he believed in the potential they harbored.

He says it again, because Bobby thinks if it were anyone else, he wouldn't believe them. Wouldn't trust it. But Hanbin wasn't anyone.

This time when Bobby extends his hand, he does so without hesitation. Hanbin leans into it, eyes closing and sigh escaping him.

"Hanbin," Bobby whispers. Already his voice was so low. "Tell me there's no cameras in this room."

Hanbin looks up at him, his long lashes curtaining most of his gaze. But it's still such a heady thing.

Bobby's eyes close. He needn't say any more, Hanbin is already moving. The familiar weight of his hand pressing into his thigh, a comfort.

Bobby's ears burn, his chest a tidal wave pushing him forward.

"There's not," it comes as a breath and it's right against his lips.

 

 

"Ready?" Hanbin's lips are still a deep rosey pink when he speaks. The rest of his demeanor a static calm of focus and determination.

Bobby rolls his weight from his tippy toes to the heel of his foot and back again. There was no endpoint to amount of falling Bobby could do for Hanbin.

The second they traded spots and Hanbin took a seat in that chair, it became a throne.

The boy Bobby kissed back from the brink of reckless self-destruction was now a king in his territory. Those hands moving with precise artistry and the tools before him bowing to and obeying his instructions.  

It was a beautiful thing.

And Hanbin was completely unaware of the power he commanded here. That confidence that struck out like a boxer’s hook.

Bobby adjusts the headphones on his head, "what?"

Hanbin turns, stare narrowed and sharp. A total professional.

"Are you ready?"

Bobby grins.

"Fuck yeah I am."

* * *

* * *

  
  
Hanbin offers to help him with his bags when they park at the dorms. But looks more relieved when Bobby tells him not to worry about it.

Bobby almost changes his mind just to tease him. But thinks better of it.

It was night when they had gotten out from YG. The van already waiting for them. Bobby had half a mind to think that it had been there the whole three hours they were inside. But that seemed too extensive.

All that really mattered to him was that his bags were still there and relatively untouched.

They were. And now he's following Hanbin through the open door of the quiet apartment serving as ikon's dorm.

"Huh," Hanbin says softly, not even stopping to kick off his shoes. "Weird."

Bobby stops behind him, noting the lack of shoe etiquette but not comfortable enough to just suddenly forgo his manners.

He slips out of his Nike's and leaves them next to a line of other shoes.

When he looks up Hanbin is already turning right down the hall.

Bobby follows, the dark wood of the floor swallowing the light. And from what he makes out in the shadows, there's only a small bathroom and two closed doors to their left.

But then they come to a new stretch of living territory.

In the brighter lighting here, empty couches and a blackened TV sit waiting for company. And in any available space along the wall, are high stacked mountains of boxes and clothes.  

 _Fangifts_ , Bobby thinks.  

He could drown in the sheer volume of it.

It’s no wonder now why Hanbin had been so open to sharing. Obviously, he nor the five others would have enough days in the year to wear it all.

Bobby briefly wonders where it goes when they don't want it anymore.

He turns back to following Hanbin. Who looks more and more like he might tell him that this was actually the wrong apartment.  

"What is it?" Bobby finally asks. Maybe the suspicion was rubbing off, because now he too felt like something was off.

"It's just normally more—"  Hanbin's words are cut by the most precarious sound of something breaking into pieces and sliding across the floor.

And then comes the yelling.

Opinions overlapping and shouting ensuing to cancel the other.  

"Ah," Hanbin breathes with a smile. "That's more like it."

He yanks on a sliding door behind them. It thunderclaps against the end of its rail, which startles no one except Bobby.

In the scene before him, he's slightly surprised to see that it's only four of the guys making it sound like an angry sports stadium. And scattered around them lay wooden Jenga blocks.

Bobby almost steps on one when he walks in behind Hanbin.

"You lost!" It's Donghyuk, shockingly, who is yelling the loudest.

That seriously couldn't be the same boy who smiled so graciously before in the video chat. No fucking way.

But there he was squared off like he'll throw a punch and pointing at a taller black haired boy across from him.

"The tower fell before I could do the dare," the latter says. "So that doesn't count."

"It was still on your turn!" Donghyuk shouts that in unison with the other two.

Yunhyeong was one of them, standing next to Donghyuk. Or... maybe he was the one sitting down next to the blacked hair boy.

Bobby squints as he thinks, trying to remember the boy he saw with Hanbin before.

"Oh," the black hair boy says, but he doesn't look too dejected about losing. Especially when he laughs so light-heartedly about it.

"Donghyuk gets really competitive," Hanbin says for just Bobby to hear, his eyes looking like they swallowed the warmth of the sun.

Bobby melts at the amount of happiness in it. This was ikon. This was Hanbin's family.

"Hanbin," the one Bobby is pretty sure is Yunhyeong calls from next to Donghyuk. "Did you have fun on your _business_ trip?"

It's so slyly singsonged that Bobby feels slightly embarrassed.

The other three turn to look at them. It's the first time Bobby gets to really see the black haired boy's face.

He's handsome. Bobby only realizes he's staring when the boy smiles back.

"Hello," he says not un-nicely, and gives a shallow bow. But it still registers as rude in Bobby's mind. Like he knows he looks good.

Bobby jerkily bows back.

"Bobby!" This is Donghyuk again, his voice back to sweetness. "You came. I'm so happy."

The boy at the table snickers which in turn makes Yunhyeong smile too.

"You already met Donghyuk and Yunhyeong," Hanbin holds Bobby's elbow to guide him closer to the table. His other hand directing to who was who.

"Yunhyeong is the same age as you by the way."

Bobby nods to him.

"Then our two highest peaks here are Junhoe," Hanbin indicates the tall black haired boy. "And Chanwoo, the youngest, and twin to Yunhyeong."

Donghyuk laughs at that.

"We're not twins," Yunhyeong scoffs, and then to Bobby. "We're not related."

"If you ever get confused," Chanwoo talks like every word has its own smirk. "Just remember I'm taller and better looking."

Yunhyeong balks, "look at this baby-faced rascal talk..."

"The _noonas_ like it," Chanwoo comments smugly and for some reason Bobby just laughs at that.

He supposes he just imagines his Aunt pinching Chanwoo’s cheeks red and stuffing crab meat into his mouth until he's all chipmunk and cute.

"Only because you look like their grandkids," Bobby says.

There's a breath of silence that Bobby thinks maybe it was too soon for him to have made a joke. But then Junhoe starts laughing and it's infectious.

The others join in until Donghyuk is in tears. It seems he's figured something out.

"Your noonas are In their fifties," he cries out like he has to explain that to everyone. "Oh my god."

Bobby smiles.

"Bobby, why don't you play the next round with us?" Yunhyeong leans a hip onto the table. "Unless you have _other_ plans."

Bobby knows he shouldn't with Yunhyeong baiting for it, but he darts a glance to Hanbin. As if he needed the approval.

Hanbin shrugs, "we'll play."

"Should we ask, Jinhwan?" Chanwoo glances at the others, but looks to Hanbin for the final answer.

"He said he was busy," Donghyuk says, grabbing for a few blocks on the floor.

Bobby realizes they were talking about the missing member.

"It doesn't matter," Hanbin pushes Bobby back into the hall. "You guys set it up, we'll be right back."

Chanwoo snorts again, but Bobby doesn't get to hear the witty remark that gets them all laughing and Junhoe saying _"what?"_.

Hanbin quickly leads him to the end of the hall. They pass by three other rooms with doors half closed or shut completely, before turning into the last room on the right.

"So, this is my room," Hanbin announces as he switches on a tall lamp light.

The room is sparse, dark, and clean. It's four star hotel quality if Bobby ever went to one.

It wasn't huge, but it still feels fairly spacious.

At the furthest wall, facing the already made bed, there was even room for a desk stockpiled with another studio keyboard and a laptop. And above that, a shelf holds a smaller set of speakers, a string of used notebooks, and a framed picture.

Closet to the door was a row of drawers with various fan gift bags and perfumes pushed around.

"There's actually an extra bed in with Junhoe and Donghyuk that's supposed to be yours," Hanbin lays a hand to Bobby's chest and slides in a little closer. "But I thought you might like to stay here with _me_."

It's a loaded whisper, one of playful teasing and promises.

Hanbin steps away, "of course it's up to you. You could even use both."

They look at each other, it's clear as day that Bobby won't.

As if there even needed to be a decision made on that. Sleep in a room with two people he hardly knew, or sleep with Hanbin.

Hanbin smiles, "Okay, so drop off your things here. I'm gonna run to the bathroom."

He darts past Bobby and down the hall.

Bobby drops his bags down by the bed and already is digging out his sincere friend. Another reason to stay with Hanbin.

"Sorry you were in there for so long," Bobby says, pulling Pooh out from the duffel bag he used for the gym. "Hopefully it didn't smell too bad in there."

He brushes off the invisible dirt from Pooh's face and places him on Hanbin's pillow.

"Cute," comes a voice from behind him.

Bobby spins, instantly stepping in front of his plush friend as a means of protection.

There leaning on the door frame, arms crossed and eyes narrowed was the last member of ikon.

He was shorter in person than Bobby originally imagined. Maybe up to his shoulder on a good day.

"Hello," Bobby says but it sounds more like a question. He quickly dips his shoulders in greeting.

"Lower," the male drawls. "I'm the oldest here."

Bobby bows from his waist to appease the other, his tongue between his teeth to keep himself from saying something stupid.

When he raises, for a minute they just look at each other. They were mentally circling the other. Bobby knows this just from experience in his fights on streets. He can seem the predator glean in this boy’s eyes.  

Finally, the male speaks. His tone sliced like had knives to hide between the words.

"Why are you here Bobby?"

Bobby isn’t expecting that question.

"I... uh," Bobby supposes it’s already known _why_ he’s here. That seventh spot in ikon. But this question wasn't asking about _that_. Instead it was sharpened to aim more personally. And admittingly Bobby is still figuring the details out on that.

Besides for Hanbin that is, but he’s not gonna go saying that in front of this guy.

"What are your goals here?" The male asks. "Your motivations? Desires? How hard are you willing to work for them?"

Bobby feels like he's being seen as a child.

"I want to make music," he says evenly. "I'm not trying to step on anyone else's toes."

"You think that's enough?" The boy stands straight and starts walking directly in, his voice dropping as he gets closer. "You'll fall under the pressure if that's all you have going for you."

"Do you have a problem with me?" Bobby snaps, hyung or not, he wasn't dealing with this interrogation. "You don't even fucking know me."

"Isn't that the **_fucking_ ** point," the other spits back. "I give my all to ikon. Built it from the ground up and trained for _years_. Do you think I'll just sit around and watch you flatten it? Just blindly trust that you won't just fucking leave us with a mess to clean up?"

Bobby feeling brave laughs, "don't flatter yourself. I'm pretty sure Hanbin did most of the work. Could you even lift anything bigger than your head?"

The other male smiles back, a mocking grin.

"Hanbin might trust you not to bulldoze through this team, but you are nothing but a shitty little flea he brought in from the streets to me."

"You must really have a death wish to talk to me like this," Bobby growls. "I've punched others for less."

Bobby might as well spewed kittens as the other hardly even blinks at the threat. Just who the fuck was he dealing with here.

"I'm just saying that maybe you should leave before you hurt someone," the boy fains an innocent shrug of his shoulders. "I think we both know you’re not ready for this."

It's the ice of cold water that Bobby feels spread through his veins.

 _Someone_.

"I wouldn't..." He breathes. "I wouldn't hurt _him_."

The other male's jaw clenches, his eyes flickering with a sharp glint.

"It'd be your best interest to be careful Bobby."

The corner of Bobby's mouth twitches. How he does so like the challenge.

"I should warn you to do the same," he says back but not un-politely.

The boy snorts, but it's a soft sound. An incredulous one.   

And then, as if moving first would be a sign of defeat, neither of them do anything but breathe.

"Jinhwan," Hanbin is back and he's standing in the doorway. "Donghyuk said you were busy."

The _and yet here you are_ , was held in the tone Hanbin uses, but he plays off his calm effortlessly.

Jinhwan holds Bobby's stare just a second longer, "it'd be rude of me not to introduce myself to the newcomer."

He turns to Hanbin, his arms still crossed.

"Don't you think?"

"Of course," Hanbin says a bit impassively.

The hairs on Bobby's neck rise. He thought the tension between him and Jinhwan was enough to create sparks, but that was all child’s play now to the amount charging through Jinhwan and Hanbin.

And yet Bobby feels like he's the cause of it.

"We were just talking," Bobby says before something snapped.

Hanbin eyes him.

"See," Jinhwan grins as he finally starts to move away. "We're just getting to know each other."

He passes Hanbin through the doorway, "good night you two."

As soon as he's gone Hanbin's bristles flatten and he looks to Bobby with concern.

"You good?" He asks. "Really, don't mind him. He's usually not an asshole."

"I'm fine," Bobby breathes.

"Okay," Hanbin fidgets with the hem of his shirt. "Did you still want to play?"

"I think you mean _am I ready to kick all your asses at Jenga_ ," Bobby smirks. "Which the answer is yes."

Hanbin smiles too, "oh, we'll see about that."

* * *

* * *

  
  
  
It's midnight when they get to bed.

Bobby is tired enough to sleep but his mind is whirling. And even with the late hour it was still considered early to him. So he's just laying there awake with Hanbin curled against his side and drawing finger patterns on his chest.

"What are thinking about," his whisper is hoarse, strained to stay quiet.

Hanbin hums and Bobby can feel the reverberations of it against his arm from Hanbin's chest.

"That you looked really good sitting in my producer chair."

Bobby takes a breath. _Oh._

"Is that all?" He muses.

It's the grin that he feels against his shoulder that tells him what kind of game they're playing.

"Also," Hanbin breathes. "How I'd like to fuck you in it."

It's jolt right to his dick at the words, even his ass clenches at the prospect.

"I don't know if that is possible?" Bobby questions, thinking mechanically if not in terms of safety.

"I think it is," Hanbin says.

They lapse into silent thought. Working it out.

"Should we go back then?" Bobby says jokingly.

But when Hanbin shifts in closer, he can feel the press of arousal against his thigh. Against the back of his hand, his knuckles brushing along the thick shaft of it.

"I don't think I'd make it," Hanbin whispers. "But I could explain it."

Bobby flushes, he swears Hanbin can feel the heat of it.

"Okay," Bobby assents.

Hanbin's hand had stopped drawing lazy circles the minute they started talking. And now slides down lower until he's palming him through the fabric of Bobby's sleepwear.

"We're there late," Hanbin starts off slowly just to build him up. "No one else is around. And you're just sitting there. In _my_ seat."

Bobby closes his eyes, Hanbin's voice at his ear.

"You look so good in it, like it fits you."

Hanbin's palm presses down harder, "and you're looking at me with that cocky smile that I just want to kiss away."

Hanbin snips at Bobby's jaw.

"You're asking for a break," Hanbin continues. "I want to say no, but you just look so good, and you've done so well. I should reward that right?"

Hanbin's hand backs off and Bobby's hips nearly lift to chase it.

"Right?" Hanbin asks again.

"Yes," Bobby breathes, the heat of his cheeks returning.

"I lean over you and push that chair up against the desk. _Undress_ , I say."

Hanbin's hand comes back, cupping him right through the fabric of his pants.

Bobby flexes one of the fingers at his side, brushing it against Hanbin's own length.

It earns him a sigh and a small rutting motion.

How long was he like this.

Hanbin strokes the tip of his head through the fabric. Just circling motions that has Bobby's breath changing.

"I step at of my own clothes," Hanbin continues. "And I help you sit at the very edge of the seat with your legs lifted and bent to your shoulders."

Bobby can see it. The way his back bows back against the leather. His ass presented as Hanbin pushes his legs up.

One of Hanbin's knees on the seat beside him while the other legs fixes itself as an anchor in pressure and stability to keep the chair from sliding.

Hanbin strokes him again and Bobby jerks into it.

"I'm already aligned with your entrance. The pink of our skin reaching out for each other. So I just slide in dry, but you take me so well. There's still lube inside you from before."

Bobby coughs something like a half laugh at the wording and also a sob because it doesn't matter.

He flexes his fingers again and Hanbin presses into them more fervently.

"And I start thrusting into you," Hanbin's voice is shaky.

Bobby moans, Hanbin was picking up speed, skipping details. But the image in his head of it was potent enough.

The force of the thrusts. The building desperation.

"You," Hanbin says and he grinds into Bobby's side, pinning his hand. "You... you would look so good. So red and wanting."

It was sloppy but Bobby doesn't care, he bucks against Hanbin's hand.

This won’t be enough.

"Hanbin," he whispers. It's almost a cry, he can't stay like this. Not after such a restless day. "Just… _f-fuck_."

He swings his arm, the one not pressed to his side. Twists and grabs Hanbin around his waist and yanks what he can of the boy over his body.

Hanbin breathlessly fumbles to comply, accidentally elbowing Bobby in the stomach in his haste.

Bobby oofs, at the breath knocked out of him.

"Sorry," Hanbin says, awkwardly half straddling Bobby's thigh.

He leans over and Bobby captures him to bring in for a kiss. His thigh lifting and Hanbin moaning softly into his mouth.

"Lube," Bobby whispers. "Just get the fucking lube."

Hanbin ruts a little, sounding a bit more apologetic when he says, "it's in my desk."

"Hanbin," Bobby bites.

"Yes. Okay. I'm up," Hanbin stands too quickly and topples off course.

"Fuck," he curses quietly as he rights himself and riffles through an open drawer.

Bobby uses the time it takes Hanbin to find it to undress himself. When the later gets back he tosses the bottle down onto the bed, his hand already saturated and stroking himself.

Bobby brings one of his knees up to his chest. His other one bent more to the side.

"Should I continue explaining the chair fucking or..?" Hanbin says as it a joke but he's so breathless.

"No," Bobby laughs just slightly, meeting Hanbin for the kiss he leans over to give.

Hanbin has a hand on the sensitive underside of his knee, holding it away has another hand guides his dick in.

Bobby’s breath loosens. His hand rushing to pull at his own cock as Hanbin slides in further, waking the muscles to remember their stretch.

Bobby whines, when he squeezes his eyes shut all he sees is himself in that producer chair.

"Not to loudly," Hanbin whispers into his ear. "The walls here are thin."

Bobby sobs, the goosebumps rippling down from his neck to his arms.

Hanbin kisses him again, sloppy and wet. His thrusts deep and filling.

Bobby shakes his head, "I’m too… _f-fuck._ ”

He tries to whisper it, but it's still loud. His biceps tense as he squeezes down on his dick.

"I c-can't hold it," he says and in his mind, he sees the mess of himself. The sweat and cum on his chest, Hanbin's own dripping out of his ass.

"Then don't," Hanbin jerks himself in right at his tangle of nerves. And Bobby gasps so loudly with Hanbin ready to capture to sound with his mouth.

Repeating the motion again until they're both spent and shaking from head to toe.

 _Again_ , Bobby wants to say. It all happened so quickly, he needs more. _Let’s do it again._

But he knows they both need more time before going for a second round. So he bites his tongue to keep it quelled.

Hanbin suddenly heaves though. As if he was silently laughing. His body laying on top of Bobby.

"Please don't say you're tired," he says nosing into Bobby's neck.

Bobby snorts at the irony.

"I'm not."

* * *

* * *

  
  
  
**~~BONUS~~  **  
  
It was still a relatively new game of the truth and dare Jenga. Each block bearing a command for its wielder to obey.  

But it doesn't stop all them from holding their breath as Junhoe carefully pushes a block out without any significant movement from the tower.  

Bobby goes as far as to bite down on his knuckle.

They had made it so far in the last game. The tower requiring them to stand up on the chairs to better lay the blocks on the top safely.

And then. All that work, all that time, toppled over in a deafening crash.

All because Yunhyeong's dare to _"dance"_ got him a little too excited to dance around the kitchen.

So now they were hell-bent on getting past that point.

Junhoe leans away to read his block, smiling wide when he does.

"What is it?" Donghyuk asks.

Chanwoo peers over at it.

" _Sing_ ," he reads.

"Oh! You _deliberately_ went for that!" Yunhyeong shouts.

But it doesn't matter, Junhoe starts belting out at the top of his lungs. Apparently going for soulful but it's just _loud_.

They're all covering their ears. Bobby has the feeling Junhoe does this way too often, dare or not.

"Chanwoo the block," Donghyuk pleads. "End his turn."

Junhoe doesn’t even protest as Chanwoo steals his makeshift microphone away and gets it carefully on the top of the tower.

"Bobby, go," Hanbin orders over Junhoe's voice.

Bobby reaches out and manages out the first block he touches even with Junhoe rattling his nerves.

"Shh," Donghyuk snaps and Junhoe graciously simmers into just soft humming.

Bobby reads his block but doesn't say anything, feeling their eyes on him.

"What does it say?" Yunhyeong asks leaning an arm on Donghyuk's shoulder.

Bobby swallows, " _group choice._ "

When he looks up, every single one of them has a hungry glint in their eyes and a question for truth budding on the tip of their tongue.

But none of them wanted to be the first to ask. So the silence impregnates itself in the waiting.

"How about we save it for _later_ ," Chanwoo gestures for Bobby to put the block on top of the tower unused. _For now._

Bobby releases a breath as he lays it in place, feeling more like he just tossed a savory bone to a pack of wolves.

 

 

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. Before you come at me.  
> 1\. The "smut" bit surprised me too. Like excuse the fck meeeeee? I had notes for them just to tease but my muse decided to ignore that. So YOU'RE WELCOME.  
> 2\. Hiya Bitchwan~ you didn't think it'd all be flowers and rainbows right? (But also that return of Bobby's bite was ♥ - like incase you forgot under all that fluff (byebye fluff) )
> 
> Cool? Cool. 
> 
> So, I know you guys waited like forever for this and thank you so much for being little angels about it T ^ T could I ask for better readers? Probably not cause you all are perfect. So make some noise below so I can fairy godmother your wishes. The ride on this fic is crazy lmao. 
> 
> As always thanks to my beta [Aby](http://shimco.tumblr.com/) who did a Aby speed reading/edit so I could post today. 
> 
> So cheers luvs. Leave love here or on [tumblr](http://coquettish-rap.tumblr.com/)~ It's always motivating.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is this? Who am I? What do you mean it's been like two months? I explain this and more down below! But enjoy the chapter guys ily =w=

 

Bobby swears he’s never before felt so royally _fucked_.

But this floor might be the best thing going for him right now. Its glossy finish is cool and sturdy under his jello limbs. And even though he can feel the heat of room stifle the air to the point of him suffocating on the musk of seven males, down here his sweat feels a little less tacky and gross against his skin.

From behind closed eyes the space around him still sways, the pounding of his pulse against every inch of his body makes the reverberations in his head a dizzying thing.

A week in and he figured he’d be used to Hanbin’s unforgiving pace and yet –

“He can’t be much fun in bed if he can’t even stand after a few hours of dance practice every day.”  

Bobby scowls. Someone else snorts.

 _A few hours_ , Bobby internally translates, actually simplifies a grueling five hours of learning dance steps and body positions no amount of squats or pushups prepared him for. And then repeating them until he’s just about believing he was born with two left feet and a brain of a goldfish.

But fuck them if they think he’ll just give up and leave because he can’t comprehend some fancy footwork.

Bobby knows he shouldn’t, that the short human manifestation of pure bitchiness is baiting him, but he turns to look at the male regardless.

Jinhwan stands contrapposto with one hand on his hip and the other holding a water bottle, looking very much like he’s hosting some anti-Bobby social club.

The members around him seem to slow down the packing of their bags with the notice of Bobby’s attention.

“Really Bobby,” Jinhwan says softly, with a whip of judgment. “I would have thought that you’d have better stamina.”

“Go eat a dick,” Bobby hisses.

Jinhwan’s mouth twitches, his stare glancing once to where Hanbin kneels over an open notebook before returning to Bobby.

“No, that seems to be more of _your_ thing, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Hyung,” this time it’s Hanbin’s voice, his tone still heavy and raw from his tyranny over their practice.

It carries a warning of danger that Bobby finds both frightening as fuck and arousing. That confusing boner coming in stronger when it’s used on others, especially towards a certain twenty-seven tangerine tall sass pot of angst.

Jinhwan’s jaw clenches with a certain disapproval.

With Hanbin still turned on him, Bobby gives a saluting middle finger for Jinhwan to see. 

The boy quirks his head, stare narrowing momentarily.

Bobby is just about to smirk over the small victory when rubber kicks across the waxed hardwood. The resulting shrill of a squeak strikes likes lightning straight into his eardrums.  

Bobby violently jumps away from the white Nikes now posed next to his head.  

He curls his bottom lip in ready to pronounce the hard _f_ in his curse. His ears are still ringing when he distantly hears the boys around him laugh. But it all defuses at the sight of the newcomer.

Bobby instead manages to school his features and shelters his middle finger back into a fist.

It just always feels more like corruption to do anything unholy in the face of Donghyuk. The younger boy sweeter than honey on sugar.

His shadow falls across Bobby’s face and there’s a knowing smile plastered on his face.

“I think you’re ready for the tour,” he says amiably.

Bobby wheezes tiredly, “the _what_?”

Donghyuk throws a gesture to what’s above them, which Bobby takes to mean the building. A tour of YG Entertainment.

Bobby sits up as the statement dawns on him in new ways. _Donghyuk is offering to give him a guided tour through the secret spaces of an industry giant_.

This felt major, like Bobby had suddenly gained enough trust to be offered this. That he had somehow made an unexpected ally in this world.

Bobby glances to Hanbin.

The boy, now standing in the front of the room tucks his closed notebook under his arm as he catches Bobby’s silent questioning look. He shrugs.

 _Do whatever,_ Hanbin seems to say but it comes out in words as “I’ll be in the studio.”

Bobby tries to press in a longing look for Hanbin to not leave him alone with an embodiment of hyper sunshine, but Hanbin just moves out of the room. Without so much as a glance back. A few of the others follow.

Bobby turns back to Donghyuk.

“Alright,” he consents. “But you have to help me get up.”

Donghyuk laughs before offering his hand.

At least, Bobby thinks as he takes Donghyuk’s help, he can trust the latter not to trick him into falling through any trap doors.   
  


* * *

* * *

  
  
  
“You refused to stop for lunch in the best part of this building – _the cafeteria_ – but now you’re even making me use _the_ _stairs_?”

Donghyuk jogs up ahead of Bobby to the landing, his humor echoing out in the stairwell along with the sound of their footsteps.

“We’re only going up _two_ flights,” he responds, spinning around to watch Bobby slowly ascend. “There’s no reason to use it for such a short distance is there?”

It’s taking all of Bobby’s self-control to not just hunch over and crawl up on all fours. Instead, he grabs the handrail and feels the protest in his thighs whenever he takes the next step.

He gives Donghyuk an incredulous look.

“Bobby,” Donghyuk says, sounding suddenly stern. “Are you one of those people that take the elevator up only one floor much to the annoyance of everyone else?”

 _Yes,_ but Bobby has a feeling admitting that would usher in a long dialogue about it. So he spares himself by not committing to _any_ verbal response.

But Donghyuk seems to read right through it since he continues on with, “did you know that for every flight of stairs you take equals about five seconds of time added time to your life?”

“I call bullshit,” Bobby grits out as his hamstrings vividly tell him the opposite. “Remind me how many floors are in this building.”

“Seven, not including the basement.”

“Oh dear God,” Bobby stops to catch his breath. “This is exactly why they invented elevators.”

“ _Oh,_ stop that.” Donghyuk reaches to pull him up. “We’ll take the elevator on the way back _down_ if it makes you feel better.”

It does. Just a little.

Bobby lets himself be dragged along, only vaguely sensing that the new hallway they’ve entered is eerily similar to the floor Hanbin had guided him through that first day.

It has the same light wood walls and carpeting, but it feels different somehow. Like there’s something heavy hanging in the air here.

“ _So_ ,” Donghyuk starts off, “the second and third floors are just recording studios. And I know Hanbin showed you the coveted _new_ one upstairs, but–“

Donghyuk sudden stops and swings open one of the unmarked doors.

“I thought I’d show you this one too,” he says, making it sound more like a special treasure rather than a basic junior level studio.

Bobby steps into the space as the lights flicker on and almost immediately wants to step back out.

“It’s so...” Bobby struggles to comprehend it. “ _Small_.”

 _Cramped,_ would be another way of putting it as he moves toward the desk where a respectable stockpile of quality equipment sits across it in perfect order waiting for use. Bobby could drool over the tech regardless if they looked to be older and smaller models than the amassment Hanbin has.

Above it, a half length mirror stretches out across the wall. Bobby catches his haggled reflection in it.

He thinks it’s supposed to offset some of the claustrophobia here, but it does is remind him that he wants to shower and sleep. And considering that not even a few strides in and he’s already up against the bench inset in the wall, no mirror was gonna make this space feel any bigger.

Bobby strokes the black leather that seems to appear on any sort of seating device in the building. It’s scuffed and in need of shining, but Bobby half wonders how many of them slept here on this regardless.

“As corny as it sounds, the room may be small but it holds a lot of history,” Donghyuk’s eyes blink down to the keyboard. He presses down on a solid white key, but without being turned on the note falls silent.

“I mean this _is_ where everything started,” Donghyuk says, his words suddenly hitting Bobby with the nostalgia of it all.

He takes in the room again. Imagines the six of them camped in here going over lyrics and pitch. Of Hanbin still sitting there in that seat when everyone else has gone home, working to perfect the very music that would eventually give them fame.

There’s no window out looking the street to distract him with daydreams, or any markings of past posters taped up to the walls to make it homey. There even lacks the allowance for stacking a comfort of poetry books. All Bobby finds room for was a single ambitious boy and the keyboard that made all his dreams possible.

Something in that makes Bobby feel sad, lonely.

“How long did you guys have this studio?” His question is thick with a grief Bobby can’t quite bare because he knows whatever the answer is, he won’t like it.

Donghyuk hums in thought, “well...Hanbin joined the company when he was fifteen? I think. So that’s..uh.”

“Seven years,” Bobby cuts in. And then a little apologetically, “give or take...”

“Sounds about right,” Donghyuk shrugs, then smiles. “The worst thing about the junior level rooms is that there’s no air.”

He points up for Bobby to notice the lack of any sort of ventilation system.

“Hot in the summer. Cold in the winter. Hanbin _hated_ it,” Donghyuk ushers them back out of the room as he talks. “But at least we got to see him more around the dorm then, now he’s spoiled by central heating and air.”

Bobby smiles at that despite himself. And then struck by a moment of curiosity and a means of achieving it, Bobby forms his question.

“Donghyuk?” He prods, second-guessing how he should word it. But Donghyuk is gracious if not kind and if there’s one thing Bobby has figured out about the boy, it’s that he _loves_ to **talk**.

“Can you tell me more about the members?”

Donghyuk gives him a curious look, that seems more pleased than mistrustful. So Bobby takes it as a good sign even though he feels the need to babel on about how it’s cause he knows so little, and being that he’s sharing their dorm that he should be a bit more aware of their temperaments.

Eventually, Donghyuk just laughs, _“alright”_. And for once the boy doesn’t run ahead to antagonize Bobby further up the stairs.

It’s probably because he’s compiling a mental list of things to say rather than out of compassion for Bobby’s sore legs. But Bobby is grateful for it regardless.

“Though first,” Donghyuk seems to come to an unspoken conclusion. “Let me show you the _lounge_.”

Again he adds that stress marker that makes everything sound so much grander. As if being under the YG roof wasn’t good enough.

Bobby rolls his eyes, “oh, please _do_ lead the way.”   
  


* * *

* * *

  
  
  
“Junhoe is such a sweetheart,” Donghyuk says around a mouth full of chewed grapes. “But he only retains information relevant to himself. So don’t expect him to like... remember your birthday or anything.”

Bobby laughs, his body sprawled out on the black sectional like some delighted house cat. He’s even absorbing the sun coming in from the floor to ceiling windows with a bag of snacks and a water in hand.

Donghyuk sits across from him, shoes kicked off and feet up on the plexiglass table.

Behind them, a green matrix of song titles rain down the glossy black walls. An extravagant showcase of years spent as a music industry giant. Within them, Bobby keeps spotting the ikon song that plagued the charts in the top ten for twelve weeks.

And just to prove, yet again, that money is no issue. The joint is **_filled_ ** with a _ridiculous_ amount of amenities. Which questionably included shag carpets, pool tables, and a fully stocked and operational kitchen.

That enough is **_heaven_ ** **.** But then throw in the flat screen tv with its gorgeous gaming system, and well... Bobby might seriously consider never leaving. He’ll just sleep right here on the couch Which might happen anyway because it’s feeling more and more like his body was hit by a freight train.

“Junhoe is also really good at reading moods,” Donghyuk makes an indiscernible hand gesture. “I don’t know how he does it but he always knows when something is wrong. You can hide it all you want, but then he’s suddenly there with something to make you feel better or some lame excuse to check in on you.”

Bobby stuffs another cheeto into his mouth, “what happens if you get upset over him forgetting your birthday?”

Donghyuk laughs, “well that hardly happens anymore since Chanwoo programmed all the important dates into his phone.”

Bobby snorts, “smart.”

“Chanwoo can be helpful when he _wants_ to be. He’s the youngest, but that doesn’t stop him from being such a pain in our ass.” It’s said rather a bit too fondly to be considered a bad thing.

“Maybe it’s because we’ve been so lenient with him, but he’ll just _oust_ you whenever the right opportunity arises,” and this time Donghyuk actually sounds more exasperated by it.

“But he works hard,” Donghyuk says as he switches to eating a small packet of almonds. “He makes the least mistakes in dance practice, but he and Jinhwan would both would rather spend more time gaming.”

Bobby’s interest perks up at the sound of Jinhwan’s name, but he acts indifferent as Donghyuk continues on. But **_nearly_ ** laughs aloud when it’s said, _“if you ever need someone to ask for advice, Jinhwan listens well.”_

Some noise must escape him though since Donghyuk pauses to ask about it.

“I dunno,” Bobby shrugs, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. “I just don’t think he’d want to help me.”

“That’s not true,” and Donghyuk says it so sincerely that Bobby can’t stop his brow from cocking up and looking back at him critically.

It was still fresh in his mind, the day of their first practice.

Bobby was already feeling all sorts of apprehensive and then that miniature asshole hyung comes right up into his space.

 

_“Just so you know,” the male breathes it in a heated whisper. “This isn’t the cuddly Hanbin that you let into your bed. Nor is it the silver tongue one you want to fuck on stage.”_

_Bobby doesn’t mean too but he takes a step back at the impact of Jinhwan’s words. He should have expected something foul from the guy who’s been nothing but a thorn in his side. But Bobby’s guard was momentarily down._

_By the time he builds it up, Jinhwan is back in his space continuing on with, “Things are serious here and only an idiot would pull their dick out in front of a tiger.”_

_Bobby scowls, “seriously,_ what _is your problem?”_

_Jinhwan shrugs, “I just wanted to warn about how you’ll be eaten today, and not in the fun kind of way.”_

_“You seem awfully concerned about my sex life,” Bobby sneers. “I would think your own hand and some porn could help you with that.”_

_Jinhwan’s laugh comes out noticeably forced, “Bobby, I couldn’t care less about you. I’m just saying not to think that whatever is going on between you two will keep you here.”_

_If it weren’t for Bobby’s mental shields being fortified by years of diss battles and street fights, then those words would twist themselves into his subconsciousness and feed the insecurities there. And yet, something in them still manages to crack one of his strongholds._

_**Don’t punch him,** Bobby has to remind himself. _ If you punch this more than deserving piece of shit in the face you’ll likely be sued for property damage.

 _“It’s a bit hard to rap efficiently with a dick in your mouth,” Bobby leans over Jinhwan. “So if you’re wondering about_ how _I got here and_ why _I’m_ **still** _here, I can assure you that I don’t confuse the two.”_

_Jinhwan actually smiles something close to genuine, “we’ll see.”_

_He turns away and Bobby moves to the other side of the room feeling more like he’s avoiding a hornet’s nest in doing so._

_“What form are we in?” Chanwoo asks, taking a spot next to bobby in the back._

_“We’re just learning the moves for now,” Hanbin turns around to face them, and Bobby catches Hanbin’s glance towards him._

Unfortunately _, so does Jinhwan._

 _“Form is dependent on how many people are in the group,” Jinhwan crosses his arms and stares directly at him. “If some_ one _suddenly doesn’t show up to practice it can fuck everyone else up.”_

 _A whole room of eyes pretends not to look at Bobby after Jinhwan’s obvious lack of subtly on who that_ someone _is._

_It’s Bobby._

_And it stings to know Jinhwan is right. They could learn the dance moves, but to know their positions on stage they would have to figure in if Bobby was staying permanently or not. Otherwise, it would be a waste of time._

_Yunhyeong suddenly laughs awkwardly, “okay, so we won’t learn the positions.”_

_“Yeah,” Donghyuk says a little hesitantly, nudging the still glaring Jinhwan. “That’s not an issue.”_

_With a sigh, Bobby just looks away as their lines come into some kind of semblance and Hanbin, dressed in sweats that do no good for showcasing his ass, tells them to focus._

_Bobby swears on it then. That no matter what kind of hell YG puts him through, he won’t quit early. He has to make Jinhwan eat his words one way or another._

 

“If you say so,” Bobby contests without much believability to what Donghyuk said for Jinhwan’s morals. “But I’m not dumb. I know he doesn’t like me.”

Donghyuk frowns, the warmth in his stare darkening like storm clouds on a horizon. Bobby looks away.

“Jinhwan is...” Donghyuk struggles to finish the thought before sighing tiredly. “I’m sorry Bobby. He can be a lot to deal with, but I can promise you that his intentions are good.”

“Okay,” Bobby says and empties the crumbs from the bottom of his cheetos bag into his mouth.

Donghyuk worries his bottom lip, “he likes attention and drama, but he’s also protective and loyal. He would lie for anyone of us even if it meant that he took the blame.”

Hearing it leaves a sour taste in Bobby’s mouth because he knows it’s probably the truth for them. But it’s just **not** a reality for Bobby.

 _Yet_ , a tiny voice in the back of his head whispers and Bobby squashes it down on it so fast that it might have well been a squeak in the sofa’s leather under his shoes.

“Don’t worry about it,” Bobby says softly, trying to sooth the younger male across from him. “Tell me about Yunhyeong.”

Donghyuk exhales a little exasperatedly and mumbles something about hard headed Hyungs before quickly jumping onto the next topic.

“Yunhyeong is just... a lovable _idiot_.”  

Bobby raises his brows skyward, but Donghyuk just rolls his eyes.

“He’s obsessed with his chapstick. _Always_ has one on him,” Donghyuk taps his fingers against his thigh. “I guess I should also mention that he kinda has OCD. His room – well his side of it at least – is _immaculate_.”

“But above all else, he’s a prankster.” Donghyuk explains on with, “however, most of his jokes backfire or he’s the only one that thinks they’re funny.”

Bobby smiles, “I don’t think it’s so bad.”

“You haven’t been with him long enough,” Donghyuk gives him a disapproving look before continuing. “He’s weird, but he’s also very gentle and compassionate. He cries easily, for like _anything_.” 

“He also cooks,” here Donghyuk’s voice warms to a more forgiving tone. “His parents own a restaurant, so he’s kinda a natural at it.”

“Wait, really?” Bobby asks, feeling a rush of affection for this same aged friend.

“Yeah,” Donghyuk seems to perk up. “You should ask him to make the fried rice or well really he’ll make you whatever you like.”

Bobby smiles, “I mean about the restaurant. My Aunt owns one. I work there – well I was, before this.”

Donghyuk breathes a long _ahh_ sound, “Hanbin’s mentioned that. And that your Aunt makes really good maeuntang.”

Bobby recoils automatically, “I hate fish.”

Donghyuk laughs, “he’s mentioned that too. Unfortunately you’d be the only one here.”

Bobby softens at the way Donghyuk says it. That sense of inclusion without the pressure of it.

“What about Hanbin?” Bobby rolls onto his side to fully face his truth-teller.

Donghyuk looks momentarily surprised, “what could I tell you that you don’t already know?”

“There’s plenty that I don’t know,” Bobby can tell his voice has gotten lighter at the mention of the leader. But it’s not like he can hide it, the whole dorm knows they share a bed.

And as Donghyuk studies him, Bobby can see that budding question loom above them ripe for picking. Sees it in the way Donghyuk leans in a bit closer ready to whisper and feels it in the way his own neck starts to heat.

But surprisingly Donghyuk just sits back and instead starts off with, “has he told you what any of his tattoos mean?”

“Well,” Bobby feels the heat rise up to his ears. “I guessed the meaning of the one on his hip... but as for the others, no, not yet.”

“Well,” Donghyuk thankfully only smirks. “I’m sure it’s in his intentions to tell you what the one _above_ that means.”

To clarify, Donghyuk touches his fingers to the spot right above his heart where Hanbin’s script tattoo starts.

The briefest flash of bare skin and a foreign word fills Bobby’s memory and the curiosity that’s plagued him to its significance rekindles.

“I suppose it’s not something that I can bribe out of you?” He says a little hopeful.

“He would tell it better, believe me.” Donghyuk smiles, but it’s not one like the others before it. It’s more fragile in its crooked arch and forced charm.

Bobby achingly sits up, “so the only thing you’re going to tell me about Hanbin is that he has a secret tattoo meaning?”

Donghyuk laughs with a shake of his head, “it’s not a secret Bobby. It’s just – how to put it...”

Donghyuk looks up to the ceiling, “this industry... Hanbin has been in it the longest and it’s made him grow up faster.”

There’s a certain sadness in the way he says it, a pity guilt that has something within Bobby twisting.

“He also didn’t choose to be the leader.”

Bobby must look surprised because Donghyuk gives him a small smile before furthering it with, “he’s not perfect, but out of all of us, he was the only one who could take the initiative. And it’s easy to take all of what he does for granted.”

Donghyuk starts to wring his own hands, an absent gesture that Bobby feels compelled to reach out and stop. But he doesn’t move.

“We sometimes forget how young he is,” Donghyuk swallows. “Even in our struggles, when we didn’t know if we’d ever debut or when a single sells poorly, he was always a rock.”

Donghyuk finally stops moving, “until he wasn’t.”

Bobby sits up straighter as something dark and painful squeezes. His lungs constrict in on him until he rasps out _“what happened?”_

A heavy pause follows and in it, Donghyuk looks to be on the verge of fracturing.

It’s such a shock to see all the warmth of joy removed from him that Bobby practically vibrates with concern. Sore legs or not, Bobby would and will jump over this godforsaken coffee table and bear hug the shit out of that boy. And promptly do the same to Hanbin.

“Donghyuk?” Bobby says softly.

“Hanbin is very hard headed,” Donghyuk suddenly starts up, clearing his throat. “He is a perfectionist and never thinks what he does is good enough. And sometimes he forgets that he is also _mortal_.”

Bobby leans back at the heat in the words. If it weren’t for the topic, he might like this side of the boy. A reminder that the sun bares fire.

And although something in what was said sounded final, in more ways than one. There curls a bitter curiosity as to what it was that happened, but Bobby feels the story has ended here. That this was all that Donghyuk would say.

But it doesn’t stop Bobby from commenting on the obvious, “you blame yourself.”

Donghyuk’s eyes shoot up towards him too fast to deny it so the boy admits it in a whisper, “we _all_ do.”

Without the full story, Bobby doesn’t really know how much more he should say. And more than ever he feels the desire to see Hanbin, to have the male under his touch if only to confirm the reality of him being there.

Bobby stands, “I believe there’s four more floors left for me to explore. So I need my tour guide to lead the way or else I’m likely to use an elevator or get in trouble.”

Donghyuk’s smile comes in slowly but it’s at least something sincere and boyish, so Bobby feels a little better after the spoiling of the mood.

Donghyuk stands, jumping back into his role with a jubilantly refreshing fast flow of speech.

“There’s still a lot to see,” he rushes past Bobby to dump their garbage of snack wrappers and water bottles into the assorted bins in the kitchen. Then he points toward the doors, singsonging it as he goes.

“Next on the tour is the design offices,” Donghyuk says and Bobby struggles to keep up with both listening and walking at the same time. “After that, it’ll be the manager spaces and the gym, and then it’s on to the conference rooms, more staff rooms, the dungeons, all before getting up to the seventh floor where the CEOs are. But we’ll be skipping that floor today.”

Donghyuk seemingly flies up the stairs to the middle landing and turns back to watch Bobby who momentarily pauses at the bottom of the first step.

“Wait,” Bobby says not sure if he heard all of that right. _“what?”_

“The seventh floor is where we meet to go over the new music or activities and get feedback. It’s _filled_ with these amazing bear figurines that our seonsaengnim collects. But it’s too weird to be up there without permission.” Donghyuk puts his hands to his hips and repeats, _“_ so _we’ll be skipping that floor today.”_

Bobby stays silent for a while. Did he think him dumb?

“You said something **before** that,” Bobby says evenly. “You mentioned conference rooms, staff rooms, and **_something_ ** else.”

Bobby rolls his hand in Donghyuk’s direction for the latter to fill in the blank.

“Oh yeah, the YG dungeons,” Donghyuk says it so easily. “That’s where we lock in all the trainees.”

Bobby realizes a beat too late, “you’re shitting me.”

Donghyuk is able to keep the nonplussed face for only a second before side splitting into an echoing sound of laughter.

“I almost believed you!” Bobby scolds loudly, his voice impossibly rising in pitch at the incredulousness of it.

“I _know_ ,” Donghyuk practically screams it. “Hanbin told me to mention it, but oh my _god_ you actually believed in them.”

“You’re _both_ dead to me,” Bobby hisses as he rounds past the boy still holding his sides in laughter and starts up the next set of stairs.

“I’ll just finish the tour myself,” he says. “I know _perfectly_ well that it’s an exaggeration.”

“Do you?” Donghyuk jogs back to his side, this time a little more of out breath. “You should have seen your face.”

Bobby shoves Donghyuk’s shoulder, but it’s a friendly gesture. Like one he’d give Minho and something in that makes him smile.

 _“Damn it,”_ Bobby breathes. “You’re gonna wear me down.”

“But we only just started,” Donghyuk smiles. “Don’t get worn out now.”

It’s not what Bobby meant, but he laughs back at it anyway.   
  


* * *

* * *

  
  
Bobby had gotten the code to unlock the studio door from Donghyuk. And even though the latter didn’t seem particularly concerned about sharing it with him, Bobby feels an overwhelming sense of trespassing when he shuts it behind him.

His heart rate triples when he sees Hanbin sitting at the desk, headphones crooked and with such intent focus applied to whatever was on the screen of his desktop.

Bobby takes a breath, Hanbin isn’t classically handsome. His nose sometimes gets in the way of their kissing, the near poking out of Bobby’s eye with it always making them pause to realign will small significant smiles. And his lips... his lips are not the size of those meant to be bypassed with a single glance, they were a that of a spring in full bloom, colorful and succulent and speaking of things that could make Bobby rain.

And with the super relativity of those features alone – not counting the watchful sable eyes or the gentle slopes of his ears – Hanbin’s face, it would seem on paper, would be too small to hold such treasures.

Yet, there lives a certain charm within Hanbin that makes the complexity of his face work. A dangerous thing that could switch from boyish blushes to predator sharpness in the same second.

But here, Bobby sees a new side of that charm. One that offers a serenity, like that of the quell of a bad storm passed by.

This quiet determination exhibited in Hanbin’s face and posture was a new sort of handsomeness. And when those stern dark eyes finally turn to look at him, Bobby feels it like a punch to the gut.

Hanbin slides his headphones completely off, his fingers catching the sunlight from the window. His blue-grey shadow stretches across the floor, extending all the way to the tip of Bobby’s shoes.

“Did you have fun?” He asks. It carries a certain softness, a questioning hesitance that betrays the smile he’s trying to hide.

Bobby scowls back.

“He did the joke?” This time Hanbin’s voice wavers, the smile coming a little more to the forefront.

“He did the joke,” Bobby snaps. “ **_And_ ** he made me use the stairs.”  

“You poor thing,” Hanbin quips, his attention turning back to the computer long enough to flex his thumb and index fingers across the keyboard. “Come listen to this.”

Bobby makes a point to take his sweet ass time crossing the relatively short distance. Even though Hanbin merely waits patiently, headphones now held out on the tip of his finger.

When Bobby takes them, in a seamless motion Hanbin moves the keyboard aside at the same time Bobby leans against the edge of the desk.  

He’s facing Hanbin as he puts them on, “what am I listening to?”

“It’s for another artist,” Hanbin says, cupping the back of one of Bobby’s knees, his finger strokes a ticklish line through the fabric of his sweats.

Bobby instinctively jerks his leg up, but not enough to really escape it. Hanbin, seeing the reaction glances up from under his lashes. The look slightly mischievous and completely flirtatious.   
  
Bobby’s skin prickles, his thoughts short circuit. And when he finally speaks, his voice has dropped an octave lower.

“I didn’t know you worked on songs outside of ikon.”

Which is a white lie, since one of the first things Bobby did when he started following Hanbin’s career was sleuth through the music copyrights licensed under YG Entertainment and found nothing outside of what ikon already released.

But then again, Hanbin could have had a pen name that wasn’t _B.I_ and this was really what Bobby wanted to know. If there were any hidden gems out there touched by Hanbin’s mastery that were lost to him.

The stress of that idea is short lived however.

“This would be a first,” Hanbin’s eyes skitter back away to the computer, his other hand hovers over the spacebar. “I was only asked to help compose certain parts of it.”

Bobby smirks, leaning over to whisper, “are you even allowed to show this to me?”

Hanbin turns his head just slightly so that their eyes align, “oops.”

He says it as he hits the key. The music blares to life and Bobby’s smile grows bigger. Hanbin’s voice is in the guide track, and the music sounds legit and catchy.

Bobby whistles, “it’s girly though.”

Which probably isn’t the best way to say it’s out of his vocal range, but then again he isn’t quite known for filtering his thoughts. Hanbin understands it though, even though he skims over the back of Bobby’s knee again.

“Because the notes are high?”

“Yes,” Bobby hisses a little pleasantly, knocking his knee against Hanbin hand. “It makes it sound like you like older guys.”

Hanbin’s lips part, a smirk forming at the corners and tongue darting out to accentuate it. He’s not quite looking at Bobby when he does it, which might be for the best as Bobby’s mind spins.

Bobby leans back, sliding the headphones off, “do you?”

“I suppose it’s a good thing your parents fucked when they did,” Hanbin says as he makes to stand, hand sliding up Bobby’s thigh and chest curving in close to Bobby’s. “You almost missed the deadline.”

Bobby leans back just a little more and puts a hand against Hanbin’s chest.

“Now,” he breathes. “Why did you have to go and say it like _that?”_

“Admittedly it sounded better in my head,” Hanbin’s hand slips through fabric to touch the bare skin of his waist.

Bobby’s breath of laughter stirs the bangs on Hanbin’s forehead, “you’re really something else.”

He lifts a hand, combing a bit of the hairs back into place atop Hanbin’s head.

“You took a shower,” Bobby says dismissively, now noticing the aroma of Hanbin’s body wash.

Hanbin pulls away the hand Bobby has on his chest and leans just a little closer to his neck.

“You didn’t,” he whispers, his voice a rush of intoxicated air.

“No,” Bobby says. “The tour guide didn’t allow for very many pit stops.”

Hanbin leans back and this time Bobby sways a bit as if to follow. Hanbin’s smile is neutral but his eyes speak differently with the way they gleam in the sunlight.

“Let me massage your legs,” he says.

“I thought for sure you were going to ask to do something in that chair of yours,” Bobby cocks his head towards it not forgetting the fantasy Hanbin detailed.

The latter shakes his head, “you’d be more likely to get a cramp than a climax in that today.”

“Again with all that sexy talk,” Bobby rolls his eyes.

Hanbin teases his own lip, smiling a little dorkishly.

“Let me massage your legs,” he propositions again, drawing just slightly closer.

Bobby noses Hanbin’s cheek, their noses bumping first before Bobby can get to Hanbin’s lips.

“I don’t think I’d be able to move afterwards,” he comments.

“Maybe that’s how I want you,” Hanbin asserts just as Bobby gets the body of Hanbin’s bottom lip between his teeth.

Hanbin leans against him, breathing a little shallower and hands skimming across Bobby’s waist.

“Then that’s how you’ll get me,” Bobby concedes, taking Hanbin’s head into his hands for further kissing as Hanbin guides them backward to the couch.   
  


* * *

* * *

  
  
At dinner, Bobby feels a pang of homesickness as he spots the makeshift gathering of various tupperware dishes spread out across the table. Each one holding different veggies or side dishes to be eaten with the bowls of rice Yunhyeong gave out.

It’s in someway bibimbap even if not all the typical ingredients are present. But for a dorm room of boys too busy to go home and often too tired to cook, it’s the best kind of bibimbap.

So even with thoughts of his aunt and how his bedroom has probably already gotten a few boxes stacked up in it, Bobby feels a certain heartwarming gesture with every bite.

“Bobby,” Chanwoo calls out around a mouth full of rice.

When Bobby looks up it’s in time to watch a grain or two fall back out onto to table where it’s stared down by Yunhyeong.

Chanwoo swallows, “do you play any games?”

“As far as what?” Bobby asks. And then putting what Donghyuk had told him about the youngest’s affinity for gaming to use, he continues on with, “Are you asking if I prefer roleplaying or first-person shooters?”

Chanwoo’s eyes alight and from the other side of the table, even Jinhwan seems to take notice.

“Then,” Chanwoo smiles. “Do you play _Overwatch_?”

“Of course,” Bobby tries for nonchalant but Chanwoo’s buzzing energy is contagious.

Chanwoo stuffs another spoonful of food into his mouth, losing the coherency as he talks, _“wi wesud pwae uh woud.”_

“Speaking is only for those who chew their food and don’t spit it back out onto the table,” Yunhyeong snaps. He scowls a little at the youngest.

Chanwoo mockingly puffs his cheeks out and chews pointedly at the other male. Then turns his head to Jinhwan and juts his jaw towards Bobby.

Bobby tries to ignore the obvious way Chanwoo is trying to get the older boy to talk to him.

In the meantime, Bobby moves some of the better sides from their tupperwares to Hanbin’s bowl. Where Hanbin eats them without question and thus makes Bobby feel a tiny bit proud.

Junhoe, Bobby knows is watching this from across the table. Yet, whenever Bobby looks up the younger one looks back down.

Jinhwan at last sighs, “Chanwoo is asking if you want to play a round with us.“

“Oh,” Bobby swallows. “Like all seven of us?”

Jinhwan’s eyes dart to Hanbin, but before he can say what it is he intended, Donghyuk jumps to it.

“That could be fun,” he says. “It’ll be good for team building.”

Jinhwan’s lips go thin and his eyes jump back to Chanwoo a little pleadingly.

Chanwoo laughs, “Bobby, careful. Some people at this table are more of a handicap.”

Even though Chanwoo doesn’t drop names his spoon lifts just a little to point out that it’s Hanbin he’s talking about.

Bobby turns to the boy next to him, “you don’t play pc games?”

Hanbin swallows his food down, “no, I do.”

“He just doesn’t play very _well_ ,” Jinhwan says with some fight in his tone.

“Says you,” Hanbin shoots back more levelly.

“Yes, says me.” Jinhwan deadpans. “The guy who found you running in circles between two walls while the other half of our team was _dead_.”

“The joystick was stuck,” Hanbin mumbles.

Jinhwan only hums his disdain before turning back to Chanwoo, “if we _all_ play then you can have the lovebirds and I’ll take the rest.”

Chanwoo frowns back at him. Bobby raises a brow at the nickname.

“But wait, we’re uneven.” Donghyuk counts the tops of their heads. “Should we ask Baymax to play?”

Bobby suddenly starts and it gets the table’s attention.

“Actually,” Bobby grins. “I think I know someone.”

“But do they play good?” Chanwoo asks with some weariness.

“No question about it,” Bobby smirks.

“Then it’s settled,” Chanwoo shrugs. “We’ll find you a computer.”

Bobby grins at Hanbin who seems to pick up on what he’s thinking.

“You think Minho will be excited?”

“Oh, I already know he’s gonna shit his pants,” Bobby laughs.  
  


* * *

* * *

  
  
  
Bobby prefers it when Hanbin leaves the dark curtains of his room open at night.

When they lay face to face Bobby can watch the lights along the Han river twinkle in and out over Hanbin’s shoulder. It makes everything feel a little more peaceful and quiet. That here they were and where the world was out of reach and non-imposing.

“Tell me about your first,” Bobby whispers tonight, their time spent before sleep always lost to questions and touching.

Hanbin stirs, bringing an arm to pillow beneath his head.

“What a follow up to _do you like cats or dogs_ ,” Hanbin muses, the question being the one that he had previously asked. Which Bobby had answered _cats_ and Hanbin with _both, but I have a dog named Obang who lives with my mom and sleeps more than you._

“Telling you my pet preferences was _very_ personal,” Bobby teases back.

Hanbin sighs, the faint trace of amusement makes Bobby smile a little more. His heart beats light and gentle in his chest.

“There was a producer a few years back,” Hanbin whispers. Following it, a confiding silence foretells Hanbin gathering his words. Bobby waits.

“He was older, and I sort of looked up to him,” Hanbin continues. “He was always patient with me and supportive. But in the end our differences were too big.”

“Do you miss him?” Bobby asks, because he thinks he hears a touch of sadness in Hanbin voice.

“No, it ended amicably,” Hanbin says. Then in after thought adds, “he had this joke for how he knew I wouldn’t cheat on him, except for music.”

 _Music_ , being what they do. What keeps Hanbin away and glued to his studio within the YG building.

“You’re still the same,” Bobby says without harm.

Hanbin looks down, “no, I think I’ve changed.”

“Yeah?” Bobby stirs. “I suppose you have.”

“Yes,” Hanbin agrees. “For starters, I cheat on music for _you._ ”

Bobby’s heart picks up, “I think I’m too closely tied to your goals _in_ music at the moment for that to be exactly true.”

“Maybe you are just one in the same,” Hanbin whispers a little more lowly.

Bobby’s not sure what it is exactly Hanbin means by that. And when Hanbin doesn’t follow it up with another question, Bobby just goes with the first thing that comes to his head.

“Has it always been guys?”

“Yes,” Hanbin’s voice holds a resolve of someone who had stopped asking that question long ago. “You?”

“It’s always been both,” Bobby answers. “My very first was a noona at school. We dated, but it didn’t go anywhere. The first guy was someone I met in the underground, but it was never romantic.”

Bobby counts their breaths, hearing the pause in which he wants to ask Hanbin if his lack of preference deters him like it did for so many before him.

But Hanbin simply gathers his hand and presses it up to his lips. And then because Bobby is at a loss for the words he wants to say and can’t say _yet_ , and of all the things he feels Hanbin too might want to say but doesn’t, he tugs his hand away and replaces it with a single kiss to Hanbin’s lips.

Hanbin’s breath is all cool mint and longing, and Bobby’s hand is slipping further down.

“Hanbin,” he says just to feel the weight of it.

“Jiwon,” Hanbin replies in earnest.

And maybe it’s the fucking lights across the Han river making this all feel like the perfect mood. Or the sincerity Bobby feels whenever Hanbin says his name. Or just the raw rainbow of emotions Bobby feels whenever Hanbin is concerned. From the heat of rap battles to the _something_ Bobby gets when he catches Hanbin in candid moments.

It’s complicated, but Bobby is drunk full of it to the point of hungover. So he could be a dumb fool, but he wants to believe in what Hanbin had just confessed.

That he’d be more than just for music.

“You’d be my first,” Bobby admits.

It goes startling quiet and Bobby can’t bear to look back at the depth of those seeing eyes.

“First what?” Hanbin whispers. A knowing weight placed on the question.

The air feels thick and with his hand slipping further into Hanbin’s pants, Bobby suddenly thinks this is _not_ how he would have imagined them approaching this topic.

“Boyfriend,” he says in a near rasp. His heart skips at the title, his stomach feeling a lot more like a mess of squirming octopus legs.

Bobby blanches at the comparison, but then Hanbin is kissing him.

Kissing him _hard_.

“I'm nervous,” Hanbin says, his nose bumping against his cheek. “But you beat me to it”

Bobby’s breath escapes him in a rush, “then is that what we are now?”

“Boyfriends?” Hanbin says it so excitedly that Bobby shys to it. The tone of it so light and doting.

“It sounds corny when you say it.”

 _“No,”_ Hanbin stresses. “It makes me happy, I like it.”

“So yes?” Bobby asks just to make sure.

 _“Yes,”_ Hanbin says into the next kiss.

Bobby’s hand jumps out from under the pillow and grabs for Hanbin’s nape. Adding insurance to the boy too good to be true.  

His other hand skims the dry length of Hanbin’s dick. The touch adding a more pervasive heat to Hanbin’s kisses. Something hungry and maddening.

Hanbin’s own hands come to mirror his. One slips down into his shorts and another under his jaw.  

It’s not the most comfortable position. Already his shoulder feels warranted for a cramp, but Bobby only pulls himself closer. His eyes open between kisses, scared he might just miss something.  

It’s not a strange thing to find Hanbin watching him back. But under such a watchful gaze it does make Bobby’s ears burn a little more intensely. Especially when he can feel Hanbin’s arousal grow in the same time as his own.

The thickness of it fills his grip, the smooth skin rippling with veins as more blood courses down to it.

Bobby’s next few breath stirs the wetness on his tongue. An audible slickness that has Hanbin’s hand at the underside of his jaw moving up to cup his cheek. A finger stretches out to circle the _o_ of his parted lips.

Bobby dips his head to capture it and presses it to the roof of his mouth. He swallows around it, the tip of it just far enough to make the gag reflex he forces down to stir.

This time it’s Hanbin’s breathing that sounds off. He pulls his finger out and rushes into a lopsided kiss, their teeth clink painfully with Bobby’s lip between them.

Bobby’s dick is fisted hard, once, twice. A budding faint taste of metallic blooms in the front of Bobby’s mouth, but he doesn’t have it in him to fully comprehend it.

Below, their knuckles knock against each other with the movement of their attentions.

And then that hand, that Bobby had momentarily forgotten about in between lip bruising kisses and slow handjobs, comes back with the dwindling amount of lube they keep stashed away in the pillow protector.

Its appearance wills their pants to get shoved down to bare their thighs and present what their handiwork has already caused.

Everything though drawn out seems to rush by. There’s an excitement in the air. A desperation to be closer.

It’s kissing and heavy breathing and knowledgeable touches that fill the passing seconds. And then it’s finally Hanbin’s hand covered in lubricant grabbing for Bobby’s hand.

The substance smears onto his palm and squishes when Hanbin threads their fingers together. Their eyes look back at each other as Bobby pulls them back down to their erections. Shuddering with a full moan when Hanbin has them take both in a unified grip.

Hanbin guides him, twisting Bobby’s hand until he memorizes the motion. Their dicks together and hands moving around them.

“Together,” Hanbin urges as Bobby is lost to the peppering of kisses Hanbin leaves over his face.

Hanbin quickens their pace and squeezes down more tightly. Bobby shudders, but nods vigorously.

Bobby’s other hand, still at Hanbin’s nape grips down. His breathing going a bit frantic forces Hanbin to whisper plesentaries into his ear.

“Hold it just a little longer,” Hanbin encourages. “Cum with me.”

Bobby whines, his stomach sucks in at the clenching of his muscles. His fist stops at the base of his own cock while Hanbin’s moves with a fast fury.

“Hanbin,” he growls. His body bows to Hanbin’s continuous touch. Head to toe he’s drawn closer.

Hanbin strains, his breath going thin with a curse as his hold twists all the way up to his tip and back down.

Bobby knocks their foreheads together and moves his hips. Adding another movement than just their hands.

Hanbin reciprocates it, his own hips rocking forward. And from him spills a sound, low and guttural.

“Together,” Bobby urges.

Hanbin’s _yes_ comes out loud and breathless.

Their lengths twitch proudly against each other. The dripping cum mixing with the lube that drips off their fingers. 

 

 

“We should probably start using towels,” Bobby says after a few minutes. His eyes are closed, his body laxed for sleep. 

He feels the puff of air Hanbin releases in his silent laugh. And then the soft fabric between his legs and Hanbin careful cleaning of their residue.

“Why? It’s just a shirt,” he whispers. “It’ll wash out.”

Bobby scowls, his eyes opening.

“It’s _givenchy_ ,,” he says lowly.

He grabs the shirt from Hanbin’s hand and pushes the boy on to his back. “Just how rich are you?”

Bobby hovers over him, pinning Hanbin’s arms down above his head.

Hanbin only grins, “careful or I’ll pull out the Saint Laurent next.”

“You’re something else,” Bobby says and rolls off with a swat of the shirt against Hanbin’s abs.

Hanbin catches his arm before he can fall back to the mattress. Pulling him down as Hanbin sits up.

“But I’m _yours_ ,” Hanbin hums.

Bobby, suddenly overcome with the proximity of their faces and the way Hanbin’s stare is so alive with mirth, only manages a shaky breath.

“Yeah,” he finally says and then smiles.

Hanbin smiles back, the Han River lights still twinkling in the background as Bobby leans in to kiss him.   
  
  
  
  
~~**BONUS**~~  
When it comes to bathrooms, Hanbin has some weird open door policy. Which Bobby thinks is more of him just not getting the door fully shut before going about business rather than truly thinking that it’d be great to shower with a potential stream of other guys walking in and out.

 _“We_ do _sometimes share showers Bobby,”_ Hanbin would say. _“It’s like the bath houses. You wouldn’t care there would you?”_

 _“That is beside the point,”_ he counters. _“I shower with you all the time. And I would shower with them too... if need be.”_

 _Hanbin_ **_always_ ** _shoots him a look at that._

But the point rather was that Bobby liked the heat a shower produces. He loves nearly scalding water relaxing his muscles and the steam that makes his cheeks flush.

He also loves getting Hanbin cradled within his arms when he’s done and dressed. Just to hear how the younger male practically mewls in the pleasure of being surrounded by so much warmth.

_“You’re like a blanket,” Hanbin mumbles._

But apparently, closed door or not, it doesn’t matter. Someone is always bound to open it and leave it open until Bobby goes off like a fucking siren about cold fronts and ball shrinkage.  

Tonight however, Bobby thinks he might actually get to enjoy it a bit longer. Even if Hanbin had curiously decided to stay the length of his shower to groom and wash up.

But just as he’s stepping out and wrapping a towel around his waist the door opens with a sweeping flourish.

The chill of new air whips in, sending Bobby’s skin into a frenzy of hair-raising goosebumps. All that precious heat now lost to the wastelands of the hallway and only Bobby to mourn it.

“I need something,” Yunhyeong announces. His eyes bounce once to Hanbin sitting at the counter, paused from cutting his nails and then to Bobby standing there clutching his towel. Who is also the _main_ reason why Hanbin has stopped functioning in his task.

“Then get it,” Bobby growls.

Yunhyeong merely _hmphs_  and slides over to the vanity drawers beside Hanbin’s legs. The younger inches himself out of the way, but Yunhyeong’s hand quickly snatches something else.

“Your lips are chapped,” Yunhyeong notes with a bit more concern than Bobby thinks warranted.

But then again Bobby also knows _why_ Hanbin’s lips are chapped and sensitive. And it wasn’t all from kissing.

Hanbin swats Yunhyeong’s hand away from his jaw, glancing once at Bobby and then away.

“You need to moisturize them properly,” Yunhyeong ducks down to get what he needs from the drawer.

“Save your Nivea endorsement for the cameras,” Hanbin mumbles.

Yunhyeong rises back up with a loud _tsking_ sound. He tucks a toiletry bag under his arms and leans a hip against the counter.

The lightness in Yunhyeong’s tone doesn’t change but it has Bobby gripping the point of closure in his towel a little more defensively.

“Remind me again about what your love for choco-cones has gotten us,” Yunhyeong makes a stab at Hanbin’s gut. “So maybe a _yes, Hyung. Thank you, Hyung_ for getting ikon a _sponsorship_ that gives us free goods and pays us to be **_brand ambassadors_ ** would be sufficient.”

Yunhyeong reaches into the top drawer blindly and pulls out a small red tube, hip checks the draw closed and presses the object into Hanbin’s chest.

“Do try to remember to use it,” Yunhyeong turns a look on him. “Even on Bobby.”

Hanbin rolls the tube of chapstick between his fingers absently, looking crossed on wanting to say something and yet not having anything to say. So instead Hanbin’s stare goes a bit blank and surprised.

Bobby compares it to a baby deer, but he’s heard quail thrown around for comparison too. It’s borderline cute either way.

Yunhyeong senses a win and beams as he moves back out the doorway.

“By the way, we’re having bibimbap tonight. I hope you two saved room.”

And then he’s gone.

“I’m going to put my pants on,” Bobby suddenly announces after a beat of tense silence.

“Good idea,” Hanbin says quickly and slides off the vanity. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen then.”

“Yup,” Bobby says trying to ignore that both their faces are slightly tinged with pink.

 

 

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My loves. My lovessss. I do hope you enjoyed this chapter! It was very painful for me to not be able to post sooner. And you must wonder at times 'man when will rwm get updated? It's past the two week mark dafuq' or maybe you don't. But I offer my explanation for these past few months regardless. 
> 
> In the beginning of 2017 my father, not even 60 years old was found to have had a tumor growing in his brain - surgeries happened, treatments took place, and we thought all was well. But it came back and it took from me someone I love very dearly and I, so young, miss him incredibly. I stayed home and watched over him as he weakened and was there that day in March of this year when he finally passed. Life became busy and messy and I could not give attention to the other things I loved - which included writing. But with this update I am coming back to myself and to you. We shall move on~ (hopefully this doesn't make you feel like Donghyuk's moment in WIN cause boy I want to hug him so hard)
> 
> ~
> 
> ANYWAYS
> 
> Drop some words of love for the chapter below <3 I'm curious what your favorite parts were or what you're looking forward too :> or confide in me on tumblr how gross and soft these rappers are. ALSO I SWEAR THIS WILL BE THE LAST YG DUNGEON JOKE i swear. maybe.
> 
> ok you know where to find me~


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M ALIVE

 

 

When Hanbin kisses his body it feels like a form of worship.

His soft lips pressed to Bobby’s soft skin. In variations of speed and pressure. Slow. Fast. Here. There. _There_.

Every single one has a purpose. Every single one is placed with intent.

It’s a thrilling thing. An overwhelming meaning that Bobby can’t quite get into words. But he can _feel_ it straight down to his core, that silent abstract definition.

Every touch of skin Hanbin lays on him, every look, and every carefully played out move is done knowing exactly how it undoes him. For Hanbin watches and listens with such a voyeuristic intensity, that it leaves no room for Bobby to be anything other than greedy and high on the pleasures of his sex.  
  
  
  
Bobby's hips lift from the bed and fall back down in lazy twisting motions.

The baby pink lips that Bobby once kissed tenderly now stretch over the blushing width of his cock. Their color no longer an innocent shade of pastel.

And if that wasn’t enough, he's got fingers up his ass encouraging him to move faster. But Bobby’s legs keep breaking into a spasm. His thighs repeatedly hugging Hanbin’s head between them.

Each time it draws Hanbin’s stare up and each time Bobby’s breath comes out in low hitching _ohs_. His legs soon parting as his hands awkwardly clamor for something to do.

Bobby gets a fist to his mouth and bites down forming crooked lines across white knuckles. Needing to quiet his near release.

 _The walls are thin,_ he keeps thinking. But fuck him because it seems like Hanbin doesn’t care.

Bobby pushes his other hand down across his torso until its the tickling of soft hair and the heat of Hanbin’s forehead against his fingertips.

His touch is passive and non-guiding. It matches the placidity of his sighs and rumbling moans. And it contrasts the fever of Hanbin taking him in again and again. Skin disappearing between parted lips, the tip of him fitting in past the back of Hanbin’s throat and reappearing glossy and wet.

Hanbin keeps eye contact even when Bobby can’t. Those eyes as dangerous a siren’s song. Every look beckoning him deeper, every wandering glide of the fingers within him push Bobby closer to the brink of restraint.

He can withstand it for a few seconds more before the names spill from his mouth with not just a single _Hanbin_ or _God_ , but also the shakey litany of **_B.I._ **

The last one, more hungry and needy than the rest.

In the lowest of low notes Bobby reverbs, shaking with a full body thunder and falling under the weight of its revelations.

He can’t stop it. He’d give Hanbin all those secrets and more if it got him more of _this_.

Hanbin’s smirk blooms in the aftermath. His weathered lips curving upwards as the apex in his throat slides down and back.

Bobby watches it go. All of what Hanbin has taken from him swallowed. Bobby’s own throat moves in mirrorment.

And then he’s chasing it. One open mouth to another.

Bobby pulls Hanbin further into his embrace. The vibrant redness of Hanbin’s lips are warm and rich against his own parting swiftly to allow Bobby in.

Bobby is ravenous with it. Spurred on by the evident taste of himself still left behind. Kissing him like there was only now and no later. Breaking only to whisper into Hanbin’s ear.

“You forgot to apply chapstick.”

“ _Would you_ _give_ **_that_** _up_ _already_ ,” Hanbin hisses, arm reaching between them.

Bobby is still snickering at the running joke when Hanbin abruptly pushes into him with something other than his fingers.

Bobby sucks in a curse word of sound and clenches down. It’s the fatter width and longer length of Hanbin’s cock sliding into him with the ease of substance and familiarity.

He clamps down harder, enjoying not only the feel of Hanbin’s girth but also how fast it wipes away the teasing look Hanbin had just given him.

“ _Jiwon_ ,” Hanbin hisses as if he meant to say _fucker_ instead. His nostrils flaring, eyes closed, and hips unwillingly giving into a sharp jerk forward.

Bobby licks his lips, clenching again and again. Testing the limits of Hanbin’s will to either go slowly, draw their climaxes out or give in and fuck Bobby into the mattress without restraint.

Bobby capitalizes on it with a satisfyingly languid moan all showy explicit.

Hanbin shudders and then actually _punches_ him. Right into the side of his ribs.

Bobby jumps. His arms wrap over his stomach to guard himself and yet, even still, he’s laughing again because he knows it means that he had gotten Hanbin worked up enough to retaliate.

Hanbin shakes his head at him and leans down, a whisper of a sigh on his breath.

“ _Jiwon_ ,” Hanbin repeats with a sweet softness.

Bobby relaxes into that, his knees tilt out wider, his back arches into the bed and his hands reach up for that face. Thumbs passing over forgotten blemishes and tired shadows, perfect cheekbones, and blushing lips.

He takes a breath and in the next Hanbin is down. Kissing him until the air is gone from their lungs.

There’s hands trailing this way and that on Bobby’s body. From the back of his thighs to up over his abs. And one that eventually comes to thread with Bobby’s, pushed down above his head as if he wasn’t dizzy enough.

Hanbin’s weight shifts. Biceps round out to bare lean muscle and hidden strength. The skin pulsing ever so slightly as Hanbin starts his thrusts.

Veins fill their vessels like rivers after a storm, and along the surface of their skin, those gorges bulge in sweeping tangles of vines and gently colored slopes. Flowing around arms and over necks and appearing in areas way lower than that.

Hanbin touches his skin there, delicate but sure. Fingers running over those bodily lines of life and muscle.

Bobby closes his eyes to it. Feeling more or less like he’s being mined for gold. The digging thrusts and Hanbin’s careful reading of every twist and turn his body makes slowly unearths him.

Hanbin’s legs slide on the bedding and their hands, now unclasping, clutch at other limbs to pull themselves back together. Hips get pushed up higher, legs out wider.

Their union though is still a slow-moving thing. And it’s all by Hanbin’s doing.

The very detail of feeling all of Hanbin’s length push into him and back out is both gratifying and achingly not enough. The heat of it burns the back of Bobby’s neck and changes his moans into sharp words and frustrated _fucks._

Hanbin nips at his throat for it, and Bobby clenches down to refute it. Hands going to the boy’s neck to catch the reverberation of the groan that ripples through skin and bone.

There is a certain awe Bobby has over it but it’s displaced when Hanbin’s angle changes.

Bobby’s toes curl, the air in his lungs whips out of him in a surprised whimper. A soft cry of pleasure. And then it’s Hanbin catching his eye as he drives forward in all the ways Bobby had asked him to.

Bobby gets the palms of his hands flat against Hanbin’s ass, his fingers curling into the soft flesh to pull him closer, to move faster, to keep him right _there_.

In some cases, Hanbin’s perfectionist nature is a wonderful thing. For in this moment Bobby knows nothing else but _this_. Of them, of breathing, of pleasure, of wanting.

It’s a dangerous state of mind. One that blurs the goals of their objectives, hides the ambitions of their dreams, and muddles the questions Bobby should be asking himself.

If Hanbin were to ask him to stay, Bobby would say yes. That willingness sharp on his tongue even when such a huge part of him still wars against it.

A part that only becomes clear in times when Bobby wakes up alone in an empty bed. And in that silence, he’s reminded that their differences are still so big.

 

* * *

* * *

 

A day where practice and training have been pushed to past noon should consist of the following activities: sleeping.

As in sleeping. Sleeping. Sleeping. And more sweet, undisturbed, blissful _sleeping_.

And yet, it’s exactly what Bobby _can’t_ do.

He’s quick to realize that a repetition of early morning rising has seriously fucked up his favorite hobby. A devastation truly.

On top of that, free mornings should **_not_ ** consist of being sideswiped into the main tv room on his way to the bathroom.

But again, that’s **_exactly_ ** what he didn’t plan for and what happens regardless of what he says. Which is how he ends up in a room with a pack of feral eyed ikon members.

“We’re having a team meeting,” Yunhyeong, Bobby’s captor, says in a voice that’s nothing but friendly and warm.

He tugs on Bobby’s arm to bring him further into the room, but Bobby slips from the hold and instead stands at the cusp of their gathering.

Most of them sit on the black sofa. Jinhwan, despite being the smallest, takes up the most space with his legs outstretched. Forcing Junhoe and Chanwoo down to the floor.

There’s a baseball game, muted, but still playing on the tv and it’s garnered Chanwoo’s intense attention. But everyone else has turned to look at him. Which makes Bobby feel like he’s been unwillingly roped into a cult conspiracy.

Bobby side eyes Yunhyeong who remains standing next to him, appearing to be a bridge between him and them.

“It seems to me that the meeting already happened,” Bobby scans the room once more, counting their numbers and coming up one short.

“You look troubled,” Jinhwan notes sardonically. “Annoyed that he didn’t leave a note?”

Maybe it’s the early morning brain fog. Or the fact that he can’t fucking pee without being accosted by people in this dorm. But Bobby snaps, annoyed not by the words but their intention to mark Hanbin has some weak link in Bobby’s armor.

Bobby takes a step forward, “you catty piece of fucked up shrimp, you wanna go at me?”

Jinhwan for a moment looks taken aback, maybe more at the shrimp reference rather than the actual heat in Bobby’s words.

But the tension between them still manages to singe the air and Bobby can see the rebuttal coming. The words are forming as Jinhwan opens his mouth but it’s Junhoe’s laughter that’s heard.

And once the handsome boy starts, he can’t stop. It’s a laugh for awkward moments made worse by laughing in the middle of such things. But now he’s not the only one enjoying this.

The attention turns to the two youngest as Chanwoo disperses his false game watching obliviousness to turn an approving look towards Bobby. His hand comes up to hide the dimpling smile that forms when he repeats the words back.

“ _Piece of fucked up shrimp_.”

Junhoe laughs louder, as do both Donghyuk and Yunhyeong, much to the annoyance of their eldest.

“Y _ah_ ,” Jinhwan calls, kicking out at the boys closest to him.

A few apologize even though their smiles haven’t faded. But by now Bobby finds that he’s smiling too. The tension having dissolved by Junhoe’s contagious laughter.

“ _So_ , Bobby.” Yunhyeong says easily enough, getting things back on track. “Do you like bowling?”

Bobby shrugs and it’s heard in the questioning tone of his voice. “Yeah, I guess?”

“Let's rephrase that,” Donghyuk starts. “Do you _want to_ **_go_ ** bowling?”

There seemed to be something else unsaid within this question. A quiet intensity that rested upon Bobby’s answer that would either alienate him or entangle him into their schemes.

Bobby narrows his eyes. He knows where this setup is going and even though he has two obvious reasons to say no, he says the opposite.

“I’m in,” he announces, thinking whatever they’re looking to do might be worth it. “What are you guys thinking?”

Yunhyeong looks momentarily surprised that it had been so easy to persuade him. But then a certain light hits his eye when he smiles and the others pick up on it too. A certain jubilance of knowing that Bobby was already one with their ways.

Even Jinhwan looked pleased for a second. Just a second.  
  
  
  
The rest of the “meeting” was a tad less dramatic than its start. Bobby even got to pee for starters. Which was good cause he doesn’t think his bladder would have been able to last through what a should have been a 10-minute debriefing that 20 minutes later is still ongoing because a certain tall, dark, and loud _someone_ kept distracting them with impersonations. Some oddly fit the moment. Others...not so much.

“If you’re going to keep doing that can you at least do it at a level that we can **_talk_ ** over you?” Donghyuk eventually shouts.

Junhoe ignores the boy so well that Bobby often has a hard time figuring out if it’s on purpose or if he genuinely just doesn’t care.

Bobby kinda liked that about him.

When Junhoe finishes they turn back to the current objective of getting a certain stubborn, yet lovable, workaholic to allow for a free day.

A free day that came with bowling instead of dance and vocal practices.

“You have to stress the _team building_ aspect,” Jinhwan says.

It was weird to be on the same side with this volatile hyung. But obviously, their differences could be put aside in order to achieve a few hours not spent in the YG practice rooms.

Not that a bowling alley offered much of difference being that neither really had windows or fresh air. But that’s not to be mentioned.

“Right,” Bobby leans back on his arms. They’re all grouped around the coffee table working this out. “But remind me again why _you_ can’t just ask him yourself.”

He directs the question at Jinhwan with a subliminal message of _isn’t that what you’re supposed to be good for?_

Jinhwan’s eye twitches, clearly not missing the message as Yunhyeong answers instead.

Bobby smirks back before turning to face his same age friend.

“Even if we ganged up in him, Hanbin would still say no,” he says. “But you’re...”

Yunhyeong rolls his hand and looks at the group for help.

“New?” Donghyuk says at the same time Chanwoo says " _fucking him_ ”.

Three of them reach out to whack Chanwoo upside the head, Bobby included. Junhoe just barely stops himself from laughing, which produces a spark of sound that turns the attention to him instead.

The boy clears his throat, and then a bit seriously he adds, “he won’t listen to us.”

“Besides,” Yunhyeong says, smiling as he dramatically pulls out a Jenga block from his pocket. “Remember this?”

 _Yes,_ Bobby thinks. He certainly _does_ remember the bad luck of pulling out that very same _group choice_ block on the first night he arrived. But,

“Tell me you weren’t holding on to that all this time just to have a climactic reveal.”

“No,” Yunhyeong says, but he’s drowned out by the chorus of “ _yes_ ” from everyone else.

Yunhyeong swats the complaints away.

“Look. _Bobby_.” He starts with a certain emphasis on Bobby’s name. “It’s all planned out already. You just have to do this one part.”

It just happened to be the make or break part of this whole scheme. And yet Bobby would have done it dare or not.

The five of them had taken the time to include him. Had even worked out a way to hide him in plain sight to avoid any extra suspicion.

Something about that kindled in Bobby. And all they asked of him was to disarm enough of Hanbin’s leadership tendencies to grant them this tiny break in routine.

“I’ll have you know that he is still just as stubborn with me as he is with you.”

“Yes,” Chanwoo speaks slowly. “But you’re not scared of him.”

“Are you scared of him?” Bobby sits up a bit as a pulse of weird silence distills them.

“We’re not _scared_ of him,” Donghyuk laughs a little at the extremity in that word choice. “We just... sometimes we don’t know how to handle him. Not since...well...”

Donghyuk shrugs and the sentence drops off.

Everyone but Bobby shares a capital _L_ , Look. And there it was again. That connected past they all shared that Bobby could only play third party witness too.

It makes his skin crawl.

“Okay then,” Bobby announces hurriedly and gets up. “I’ll head there now.”

“You have a plan?” Donghyuk asks.

“I’m just gonna ask him,” Bobby grins at them as he steps out of the room. “What else would I do?”

There’s a beat of silence as Bobby walks back toward the bedroom and then quite loudly Chanwoo calls after him.

“Wear the skinny jeans!”

Bobby actually takes a few steps back to make sure the boy sees the middle finger Bobby has for that remark.

He doesn’t need to resort to diversion tactics.

And yet later he quickly leaves the dorm with Chanwoo catcalling behind him because he _is_ in fact wearing a borrowed pair of fucking skinny jeans. Ones that hang on his waist just right and make his legs look long as fuck.

Jinhwan even whistles at him before he leaves.

But that’s obviously a coincidence.

 

* * *

* * *

 

When Bobby makes his way up to the studio he’s holding a filled tray of food because one, he hasn’t eaten anything yet. And two, Hanbin most likely hasn’t eaten either.  

So Bobby has the best of what the YG cafeteria can offer him in the odd hours between breakfast and lunch. A vegetable curry, rolls of kimbap, and amazingly he even charmed the ladies there with enough eye smiles and politeness to get the ultra-rare and exclusive seafood potstickers.

Bobby doesn’t eat them. But that hasn’t stopped him from noticing just how fast they disappear from the lineup whenever they’re served and the near to tears look Hanbin gets whenever he misses them.

Admittingly, being up early has some benefits.

Though, within Hanbin’s studio, all sense of time fell away. After a few weeks, Bobby came to understand how easy it was to stay holed up here.

Especially when Hanbin has the blackout shades drawn down over his window and it's only the mess of string lights Hanbin’s got pinned up on the walls and the jars of twinkle lights on his desk offering visibility in the darkness.

Morning, afternoon, night. There was no difference here. This version of his studio was a dreamscape of amber lights and warm shadows. It quiets the busy beast of inspiration and puts to sleep the rumbling hum of the world.  

Bobby pauses at the door just so that he can adjust to the dim of the room before making his way to the desk. Hanbin notices him straight away, and when Bobby approaches he can just make out Hanbin’s eye fucking stare moving up along his legs.

Bobby smirks a little knowingly.

“Hey,” he says slipping the tray of food onto the desk.

Hanbin mirrors his greeting back, leaning in as Bobby leans down to kiss him. Because that’s a thing now. A legit _you’re mine and I love seeing you_ thing that couples get to do.

Bobby’s heart still flutters over it. God help him if Minho ever saw him like this.

“ _There’s a whole fucking pride parade making its way up my throat.”_ Bobby can hear him saying, pretending not to be the biggest shipper of them all. “ _I’m about to get a whole bunch of glittery hearts and rainbows all over my shoes if this continues._ ”

Damn does Bobby miss his snark sometimes.

“ _Fuuuuck_ ,” Hanbin two-handedly grabs for the dumplings and then with a mouth full of one he talks again. “I _love_ these.”

“ _No shit_ ,” Bobby nudges Hanbin’s forehead, fingers subtly moving up to comb back his messy bangs.

Hanbin has his cheeks double stuffed but he smiles at him, one eye crinkling a little more than the other.

“Of course I love you more,” Hanbin whispers.

Bobby’s heart trips, forgetting its rhythm and restarting faster. The tips of his ears feel suddenly too warm and the air too thick to breathe.

“ _Eyy_ ,” Bobby smiles. “Let's not say things we don’t mean.”

Hanbin gives him an undecipherable grin before swallowing the rest of his bite and changing the subject.

“Whose are these?” Hanbin runs a hand up Bobby’s thigh, noting the new jeans appreciatively.

“Formly Yunhyeong’s,” Bobby says. He reaches for one of the kimbap rolls and unwraps it, pulling out some of the overhanging pieces of carrot and pickled radish to eat first.

“He was throwing them out,” Bobby further clarifies.

Hanbin shakes his head, smiling like he’s biting his tongue on saying something about it.

“They’re perfectly good jeans,” Bobby defends.

“Oh. I _agree_ ,” Hanbin says. But Bobby knows he’s not _really_ talking about the jeans here. Not exactly.

Bobby just continues to eat and so too does Hanbin. His hand leaving Bobby’s thigh to start on the plate of curry.

“Thanks for the food,” Hanbin says, getting a little of the brown sauce on edge of his lip.

Bobby’s aware to it just as much as he’s aware of the clammy cold spot radiating on his leg precisely where Hanbin’s hand had just been.

Hanbin notices the stare and looks up, tongue licking away the spot.

“No problem,” Bobby answers and looks away. His stomach leading a somersaulting revolt for all his remaining organs.

And that’s when Bobby notices a small black box, the size of a cd, sitting off to the side.

Its cover is signed over with silver sharpied names and hearts.

Bobby is already reaching across Hanbin to grab it.

“Is this the one you were helping with?” He says it too excitedly, already opening it to get to the lyric booklet inside.

“It’s not...” Hanbin reaches for it but Bobby leans away as he thumbs through the song credits. Looking.

Maybe the type is too small to see clearly in this light. Or he hopes he’s just missed it. But what is this sinking feeling in his chest then?

“Where’s your name?” He asks finally. He’s smiling, forcing a laugh to lighten his words but the sound is so shaky. Because Bobby _knows_ that there’s no way he would have missed any of Hanbin’s names, real or stage.

“It was for this song right?” Bobby points to the title to confirm. But Hanbin isn’t looking at him. He isn’t eating either, just pushing food around the plate.

Gravity deserts them. Bobby can feel himself lifting off the desk. Standing closer to the light to make sure.

“Hanbin,” Bobby breathes. “Where is your credit?”

Hanbin sighs and it’s like the weight of the world has resettled on only his shoulders.

“They ended up not using what I gave them,” Hanbin says it lowly. Rehearsed, like he was repeating it back from a teleprompter.

“ _Bullshit_ ,” Bobby’s anger flairs. “Play it. I want to hear the difference.”

He tears out the sleeve of cardstock containing the cd and holds it out between them.

Hanbin snorts, but the sound is weak. He shakes his head and Bobby’s jaw clenches, his teeth grinding.

“It’s the same isn’t it?” There’s a heavy, hurting pain in Bobby’s chest. A mournful dejection that’s not entirely his own.

“I don’t know,” Hanbin whispers deathly low.

“You don’t _know_?” Bobby laughs. “Hanbin just tell me the truth. Are you even getting royalties?”

Hanbin finally looks up at that and the heat in his glare has Bobby ready to snap the cd between his fingers.

Bobby’s dealt with Hanbin’s anger before. He’s seen the death glares and the heard the way his voice drops down in pitch until it’s nothing but his silence that suffocates a room.

But this. _This_ silence wielded a knife and it was currently pressed right up against Bobby’s throat.

And while Bobby still has all the guts to press into that blade, to let it cut his skin. He doesn’t.

He thinks of the members at home.

They must have known about this. About how Hanbin’s credit was stolen. That his talent, and hard work, and all that time has been abused and hidden like it was worth _nothing_.

It was why Chanwoo said “ _you’re not scared of him”_ and why they had sent him instead.

For if Bobby could not slow down the pendulum of Hanbin’s swinging mood than there was no hope to survive a practice with him.

It would be the same as asking for a firing squad and expecting mercy.

So they knew before Bobby did that what Hanbin needed most was a break. Or at the very least a distraction.

Give him junk food. Give him friends. And give him an activity that put him out of his element, out of YG.

They all needed a free day, but Hanbin had needed one for far longer.

“Fine.” Bobby nods, fighting to keep the seething out of his tone.

It was hard for him to yield on this. Hard for him to acknowledge its happening and not lash out at the unfairness.

Where he came from, credit was given where credit was due. But here he realizes he does not get to authorize all of what happens. That there were things even beyond Hanbin’s control and a few of them Bobby, annoyingly, would never get to understand completely if they kept playing dumb with him.

He drops the cd and the rest of the contents back into the box. Resisting the urge to do so satirically, as it seems Hanbin still had some kind of respect to it.

If it were up to Bobby, he would have sooner tossed it in the garbage or out the window. But at last, he sets the box down next to their partially eaten food. Momentarily consumed with an infuriating grief over the sad looking curry that sits there.

He leans back against the desk, staring ahead at the halos of light the individual bulbs make against the wall.

And then because this silence was an ugly consuming thing Bobby speaks frank and without preamble.

“We’re going bowling.”

He says it as an announcement rather than an order or a suggestion. Much like he would say _it’s raining_ or _I like it when your hand touches mine_.

Bobby counts the seconds with his heartbeat. _1, 2..._

“We have practice.”

It’s not harsh or sharp. Just another statement.

“It’d be nice if you joined us,” Bobby skips over Hanbin’s rebuke. “For the team building sake of it.”

He still counts the beats. _1, 2..._

“Team building,” Hanbin echoes it like he’s testing the flavor of the word. Rolling it around on his palate to find the right pairing of what he should say next.

Bobby lets him think, biting his tongue on all the other reasons he wants to give.

Hanbin’s head turns to him slightly and Bobby mirrors it until at last they’re looking back at each other once again.

“It’s too risky for you,” Hanbin looks sad to say it.

Bobby rocks back on the desk, his feet leaving the floor for a tiny second before landing again.

“I’ll be okay,” Bobby assures it with a small grin. “There’s a plan in place.”

“And you trust their planning?” Hanbin says it a little incredulously.

Bobby snorts. “Do you not trust your members Hanbin?”

“They are loud,” Hanbin says. “They will draw attention.”

“Well,” Bobby shrugs. “I trust them and your manager and the handful of YG staff they convinced to join them.”

Hanbin looks to mull that over a bit more seriously. Eyes dropping away from Bobby’s.

He can’t really explain it. Bobby’s heartbeat jumps and he’s suddenly tentative. Reaching out slowly and finding himself finger combing Hanbin’s hair back again.

He swallows, aware that Hanbin could metaphorically bite him like a real tiger would. But this stubborn creature must too want some rest, for Hanbin’s eyes slip close at the touch.

His brows crease right in the middle as the decision weighs him. And Bobby is amazed at just how fast Hanbin’s temperament has changed.

He supposes Hanbin isn’t so against a free day as they thought. But the responsibilities of a leader still fall upon him.

“It’ll be good for us,” Bobby says meaning all seven of them. “And it’d be good for you too.”

Hanbin only sighs and Bobby understands it to be enough of a yes to get them by. That anger from before making Hanbin a little softer around the edges.

He drops his hand down to Hanbin’s nape, keeping him still as he leans in close to the boy’s ear.

“Just a heads up,” Bobby warns. “Don’t wear anything we fucked in.”

He leans away just in time to hear Hanbin’s quick breath and see his eyes go wide and wild.  

Bobby smiles, his nose crinkling as his face scrunches up.

Hanbin scoffs but smiles again, just the tiniest bit at last.

 

* * *

* * *

 

“Are you sure he’s coming?”

Bobby looks up from his seat at the green highlighter talking to him.

Under the blacklight, Yunhyeong's neon shirt was its own light source. And for a change, he wasn’t the only one standing out fashion wise. All five of the currently present ikon members were dressed as exploding suns of colors.

Meanwhile, in order to blend in, Bobby and the YG staff wore mostly black with only minimal slips of color like the white stripes on his jogger pants or the glow from a logo printed on his snapback.

That way, should anyone recognize them, the attention would remain on the members and discount the rest.

Essentially. Bobby was hidden right in plain sight. Which is kinda genius if you think about it.

Especially when the details of anyone’s vision is as skewed as it is in such a place as a glow-in-the-dark bowling alley.

“He’ll come,” Bobby says still feeling certain he had left the studio earlier with a clear understanding that Hanbin was in fact going to meet them here.

But they’re four frames into their opening game and Bobby keeps watching the door for signs of Hanbin’s arrival.

And maybe Yunhyeong’s nerves are contagious because Bobby can feel himself starting to get jittery. Soon he wouldn’t be able to even stay seated.

“You told him the right time?” The other male asks over the constant noise of falling pins, bowling balls, and grainy pop music playing above them.

“ _Yes_ ,” Bobby says crossly. Exasperated, because it’s not the first time they’ve been through this in the past 40 minutes that they’ve been here.

Yunhyeong bites at the inside of his cheek, looking to be close to asking another one of his questions. Instead, he’s sent stumbling back by the sudden sound of an automated applause marking that someone had just scored a–

“STRIKE,” Donghyuk’s voice sings out as the flash of his glowing orange pullover barrels into a still recovering and ear ringing Yunhyeong.

“Did you see it?” Donghyuk wraps an arm around Yunhyeong’s shoulders, shaking him.

Yunhyeong gives him a dazed look like he’s just coming to re-realize his surroundings.

Donghyuk frowns. Bobby laughs.

“Eyy, hyung.” Donghyuk leaves his side to flop into a seat next to Bobby. “Stop distracting the team, Hanbin will get here when he gets here.

Yunhyeong rolls his eyes since without Hanbin, the three of them were in fact **_the_ ** “team.”

They were playing four on four with the manager on Jinhwan’s side and the three of them exchanging extra turns to make up for Hanbin’s tardiness.

“Hey!” Jinhwan calls to them. “I think I remember a deal that stated whichever team was trailing by the half was the one to go get the food.”

Chanwoo and Junhoe come up to Jinhwan’s side, flanking him like crayola-colored bodyguards. And all three of them point to the scoreboard as if Bobby’s team needed help realizing that they were behind. But really, only _just_ barely.

Donghyuk groans, “damn we _really_ need to bump that up before Hanbin gets here if we want any shot at winning this.”

“I forget who’s turn it is,” Yunhyeong admits absently.

“It’s okay,” Bobby squares his shoulders. “One of you take the turn and I’ll go get the food.”

“You sure?” Donghyuk asks.

“We could probably bribe Junhoe to do it, honestly.” Yunhyeong casts a curious glance to said boy currently laughing over Chanwoo trying and failing to distract the YG staff in the lane next to them.  

“Nah,” Bobby shakes his head. “It’s okay. I got it.”

He really just wants to take a minute for himself. He’s having fun, truly, but that cloud of Hanbin’s absence was still hanging over them. And with that was a certain level of unrest from feeling that he hadn’t done what was expected of him.

“Okay,” Donghyuk smiles back. He reaches out to tug at the face mask Bobby has on under his chin. “Better wear this completely.”

“Right,” Bobby smiles before pulling it up over his mouth and tugging down his cap to cover his eyes.

Donghyuk winks before turning back to the game. But before Bobby can get too far away from them someone else is calling to him.

“Hey. Genius.” Jinhwan steps out into the open carpeted hall behind their resting area. “You’ll need this.”

He holds a credit card out to him.

“Oh,” Bobby had just expected to put the food on the same bill as their lane rentals. “Are you paying for this?”

He takes ahold of the card but Jinhwan doesn’t immediately let go. Their eyes lock and it seems the older male is trying to bring himself to say something else.

“Just... don’t forget the sodas.” Jinhwan finally says before adding in, “and thank you, Bobby.”

Maybe if Bobby’s face was less hidden Jinhwan would have seen the way Bobby’s eyes widened and his bottom jaw detached from his face.

But as it was Jinhwan just turns back to his team and Bobby continues on even though it feels like the landscape had suddenly shifted beneath him.  
  
  
  
Out by the food counter, the lighting was applicatively more seeable by. And Bobby stands at the pickup area tapping out a beat atop of the pizza boxes as he waits.  

He’s had something original stuck in his head for a while now, but it’s still too unformed to make anything out of it so his mind is left to wander.

Maybe he had misunderstood Hanbin earlier today. He hadn’t exactly gotten a verbal _yes I’ll be there_ from the latter. But Bobby had to just think that their _see you later_ s were in fact pin-pointing to being **_here_ ** as the _later_.

Bobby should have dragged the younger male out when he left. What if Hanbin was allowing them to go out but has yet to leave his studio?

Kinda defeats the whole purpose for this.

Bobby sighs. The later it got, the more annoyance Bobby built into the situation. All the emotions from the day pressing down on him.

“Here’s the rest of your order.”

Bobby turns back to the girl behind the counter and _shit_ that’s a lot of soda and fries.

Bobby reaches out to help as she manages to carefully place each overbrimming tray onto the counter.

“I could get someone to help you bring this back to your party,” she says. “If you’d like.”

Bobby doesn’t answer her right away. He’s busy recounting the food making sure it’s all there. Three pizza, six fries, twelve sodas. That’s two slices, a shared fry, and a drink for each person in their party give or take.

Bobby thinks that should be enough.

As to her question, Bobby falters. Even though the help would save him the extra trip, it put too much at stake should someone find a reason to start watching them a little more closely.

Bobby laughs to dislodge the worry that seems to have formed a fist in his throat.

“I’ll just come back,” he says at last. “Don’t worry about it.”

The girl looks down at all the food and back up at him, brows raised. Maybe she’s thinking of how much there’d be to clean if he should drop anything because her voice sounds a little paternal when she asks him again.

“Are you sure?”

“We’ll be ok, thank you.”

Bobby’s heart launches itself into his ribs. For a second Bobby forgets himself completely, turning to the male now standing beside him. His vision suddenly full of a familiar gray hoodie pulled up over a snapback.

There’s a cold sweat starting to condense on Bobby’s palms.

“Hey,” he whispers, momentarily forgetting his annoyance.

Under the rim of the hat, he can just see the tugging at the corner of those lips. The teasing smile about to form.

 _Hello Bobby_ , he hears it in his mind even though Hanbin hasn’t said it. All those memories of their first meetings playing back before him, all spurred on by that damn fucking hoodie.

He turns back to the girl, noticing the curiosity in her glances between them. He realizes that surely this looked weird. Not too many people come here picking up food with their faces half covered.

But if she thought anything of it she doesn’t show it.

“Okay,” she smiles politely, stabbing their order receipt onto the tacked pile with the others. “Enjoy.”

And then she’s gone. Back to pulling food from under the heating lamps for the next customer.

Bobby breathes. And then wishing for the cloaking abilities of the dark room behind them, he moves the tray of fries to sit on top of the pizza boxes and pushes it towards Hanbin.

Bobby grabs whatever else they may need, including the straws and napkins and then the tray of drinks. Leading Hanbin back out to the bowling lanes without looking back.

Hanbin matches his slow and steady steps.

“Donghyuk is going to love this,” Hanbin says knowing in fact that Donghyuk is _not_ going to love the amount of junk food they’re about to eat.

“Technically, one of the pizzas is vegetarian.”

“Ah,” Hanbin muses just as they enter into the black light. “Then it’s forgiven.”

Bobby disappears into it, but Hanbin’s gray hoodie transforms itself into the dull pale blue of a celestial moon.

Bobby can’t quite stop looking at him for it. The color is subtle on its own, but Bobby just knows that amongst the brights of the rest of the members, Hanbin was sure to stand out.

“I’m actually not so good at bowling,” Hanbin confesses, trying for small talk.

Bobby tries to gear most of his attention to the sodas jostling around in their neon cups. A few of them looking all too happy to cannonball off the edge of the tray.

Bobby snorts at what Hanbin says though, “from what I’ve been told, that would be an understatement.”

“Well maybe I just need _someone_ to teach me,” and Bobby doesn’t need to see Hanbin’s face to know the flirty heed his stare holds.

Bobby smiles, but it’s not from humor. That something else from before is starting to eat at his attention again.

He takes a deep breath trying to avoid the landslide of held back thoughts. But he just can’t escape the replaying moment of them in the studio. That second he relented on asking for more.

He remembers the fury in Hanbin’s eyes, the answers Hanbin was guarding, and now all the frustrations it gave Bobby to harbor.

It should not bother him so much. It should not ruin their night. But Bobby was not good at hiding how he felt.  

“I’m sorry I came late,” Hanbin says maybe picking up on the sudden tension.

Bobby tries, for sake of the members, who are now only a few more feet away from them, to shrug it off. To say something like _it’s okay, you’re here now and that’s enough._

But something in him snaps, and instead his words twist into something ugly and vengeful.

“As long as you’re declawed, it’ll be fine.”

Hanbin stops right at the edge of their rental area, the voices of his members nearly drowning out everything else. But Hanbin turns instantly towards him.

And perhaps the morning has been weighing on his mind too, because Hanbin just nods stiffly. His next words knocking Bobby back.

“We should probably talk.”

Bobby holds his breath, his body tensing.

“Honestly?” His tone still carrying a bite on the end of his words. Because he’s tired of all the secrets. Tired of being told he wouldn’t understand. Tired of being asked to _wait for it_.

Bobby would not be a part of this team if all they did was treat him like a child sitting at an adult table. He was their equal and he was worth more to them than just being the guy in Hanbin’s bed.

“You made it!” Donghyuk is there flanked by the others. The tray of drinks gets taken from his hands and so too does the food from Hanbin’s.

Junhoe and Chanwoo both already eating some of the fries as they work to disperse it.

Yunhyeong embraces Hanbin, holding him close as Donghyuk tries to get him up to speed on their standings.  

Hanbin turns back to him though, breaking enough away from the others to pull Bobby into their circle.

His hand grips him at the back of Bobby’s neck, his palms still burning warm from the heat of the food.

Bobby melts at the contact. His breathing loosens and his chest suddenly decompresses. And he remembers how every form of skinship Hanbin makes has a purpose. Every touch knows hows to undo him.

He’s pulled in closer until his head is down at Hanbin’s shoulder, their hats getting knocked askew.

“Honestly,” Hanbin whispers back to him, answering the question just loud enough above the rest of the chatter for him to hear.

It was a promise.

“Okay,” Bobby whispers back, and something in that relieves him.

Hanbin loosens his grip, fingers moving to stroke over Bobby’s jaw and throat.

“Now show me how to bowl,” Hanbin says, his smile catching the glow of his celestial blue hoodie.

Bobby surprises himself with a laugh. His hand finding Hanbin’s in the dark, their fingers braiding together as Yunhyung drags them along after Donghyuk.

And he might be nervous as fuck for the things left unsaid and anger at other things, but damn could he still be thankful for this moment next to Hanbin’s side.

* * *

* * *

 

**~~Bonus:~~ **

When living with others in a somewhat confined space like a dorm, there is always going to be certain nuances to get used too.

Bathroom schedules - 7am and 9pm unless Bobby shared it with Hanbin who seems to get whatever time he wants. “ _Leader privileges,"_ Chanwoo had called it once.

Speaker volumes. Don’t go past the fifth dot from the left or else all hell breaks loose.

Food seasoning. Ok, this wasn’t really an issue. Yunhyeong was giving his Aunt a run for her money on potato pancakes.

Temperature control. Apparently, the one thing Hanbin’s “leader privileges” has no say in since he swears that 73 (22) is the perfect setting. Except, it left the rest of them a sweltering mess.

And of course, there was the leaving of edibles on Bobby’s pillow.

Mostly redbull and monster energy drinks. But sometimes he got an occasional moonpie or a freshly bagged hot bar.

He used to think it was just things that Hanbin left out since he _ate_ them after Bobby noticed them anyway. But then it became increasingly clear that the supposed _gifts_ were being left there by someone else and were intended for **_Bobby_**.

 _“I think they’re care packages,”_ Hanbin theorized once with a certain softness that said he was enjoying this mystery with a certain amount of growing affection.

But, Hanbin had to have a better hunch at who the culprit was than Bobby. Not that the latter would tell him anything about it.

And if there was one thing that annoyed Bobby more than rappers offbeat, it would be unsolved mysteries.

He’s already ruled out Jinhwan for obvious reasons, even though Hanbin has said not to discredit him.

_“It’s always the person you least expect!” Hanbin had gotten himself very much into this._

_“You’re the person I least suspect.”_

_Hanbin gave him a frown, “I could leave gifts on your pillow too.”_

Next on his list was Yunhyeong and Donghyuk. The two members aside from Hanbin that Bobby has grown close to.

Donghyuk has no issue sharing his stuff in general. Just ask him and he’d give you the shirt off his back. So Bobby rules him as unlikely to be sneaking around and leaving stuff for Bobby to find.

But Yunhyeong... well Bobby could see it being him. Except Bobby can always place him somewhere else in the dorm within the time frame of when the _care packages_ were placed.

_“I like your reasoning detective,” Hanbin muses._

_“Would you stop that.”_

_“No way,” Hanbin smiles. “It’s kinda sexy to see you all worked up.”_

_“You are a liability to this case,” Bobby glowers. “Plus you eat all my clues.”_

_Hanbin just winks, something he’s been getting better at._

_Bobby rolls his eyes, ignoring the fact that he fucking loves the amount of effort it takes him to just close one eye at a time._

So that left him with the two youngest. And neither one seemed likely to Bobby.

Chanwoo’s caring nature came out in more overt ways, like alerting him to his missteps in practice before Hanbin snapped their dicks off about it. Or reminding him what cabinet had the glasses and where to find the spoons.

Which made leaving things on Bobby’s pillow a bit of an overkill. Not to mention it just wasn’t Chanwoo’s style.

Meanwhile Junhoe... Bobby has to admit, he doesn’t have the boy as figured out as the rest.

He knew the boy was loud but also shy. And of course that he had an overwhelming obsession with eating hot bars.

So when Bobby comes back from his shower and that hot bar of fried fish cake with sausage stuffing is sitting there on the bed wrapped in wax paper, Bobby can’t ignore that glaring clue.

“It’s Junhoe,” Bobby announces, picking up the warm street food and tossing it over to Hanbin.

Hanbin swivels around from his desk in time to catch it.

“Should we call him in for questioning?” He asks all upbeat and with a good chunk of hot bar already in his mouth.

“Maybe I should ask the eyewitness first,” Bobby gives Hanbin a look because he obviously knows that Hanbin was here the whole time.

Hanbin smiles, “okay, yes it was Junhoe.”

Bobby sits at the edge of the bed, legs crossed at the knee.

“But why?”

“Maybe he likes you,” Hanbin says around another mouth full.

“Oh yeah totally,” but his voice is dry and lacks believability.

“We could start a harem,” Hanbin wiggles his brows.

Bobby cocks his head to the side, “but neither one of us shares well.”

“Pity,” Hanbin sighs sadly but Bobby knows he’s only joking about it. “What about the accomplice?”

“The accomplice?”

“Yes,” Hanbin turns the chair side to side. “You haven’t figured out who it is.”

“Oh?” Bobby grins cause he can see just how hyped Hanbin is to one-up him. “Tell me.”

“He probably gets Jinhwan to buy him the stuff when they go to the corner store,” Hanbin smirks. “It’s kinda funny if you think about it, given your imagined blood feud with him and all.”

Bobby snorts, “so that’s why you said not disregard him. But does he even know?”

“I think Jinhwan has a hunch,” Hanbin shrugs. “But he’s soft for Junhoe and Junhoe is well... _Junhoe_.”

“That explains _so_ much,’ Bobby says sarcastically.

“He probably feels bad for you.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good thing,” Bobby shakes his head.

“No,” Hanbin drags out the sound. “I don’t mean it like _that._ But more like he’s quietly supporting you and is trying to help because he knows how hard it is.“

Bobby now understands Hanbin’s excitement for the whole thing now. The male is practically **_beaming_ ** proud parent vibes.

“He does know I don’t like fish right?”

Hanbin waves it off, “it’s the thought that counts. It’s his favorite thing to eat and he’s sharing it with you.”

“Yes,” Bobby breathes. “Too bad we’ve been so awkward with each other.”

“It’s cause he likes you,” Hanbin says. “I’m serious.”

“ _Fuck that_ ,” Bobby hisses as he throws a pillow at his boyfriend.

“That’s what the harem is for!” Hanbin deflects the flying missile aimed for his face.

“Hanbin!” Bobby shouts. “There’ll be no harems!"

“If you say so.”

Bobby moans, flopping down on to the bed.

“You are insufferable,” he says after a while.

“You love it.”

Bobby only flips him the finger, but god dammit he think he does love it. And Hanbin.

He loves Hanbin.

 

 

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was supposed to finish this last week ( ignores that I haven't updated in two months ) but then I won Hamilton tickets for that weekend and well oops. And if you think I won't somehow squeeze a reference into this fic you're wrong. ialreadydid. 
> 
> But anyways~! The beginning was hard to write for some reason and gah I really hope you guys are liking it and that this chapter was worth the wait! I think the bonus is cute enough to call off the pitch forks yes? I know things have slowed down a bit. But they'll pick back up plot wise.
> 
> Of course sending out my thanks to the great and wonderful [Aby](http://shimco.tumblr.com/) for being my beta and staying up late to read this and listen to me complain while she jokes about it with memes. 
> 
> Let me know the feels in the comments or on tumblr~ you guys are the real mvps here


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I blinked it was already a month past the last time I updated. But this turned out longer than I expected SO I HOPE IT PAID OFF

 

Bobby should be mad.

He should just let the apprehension churning in his gut feed into his annoyance.

But looking at Hanbin now, hair wet and skin still dewy from his shower. Bobby’s discontent dampens down until it’s only a burning taste in the back of his throat.

There was no use for anger here.

Certainly, not when Hanbin had already offered to talk things out with him.

Or when Hanbin standing here before him, keeps rubbing a hand over his own chest. Which tells Bobby that he is just as anxious as he is for this. If not more so by the judging of that nervous tick.

But Bobby too was seeking a form of comfort and confidence, even if slightly less self-sustained than Hanbin’s. For in Bobby’s lap there sits a familiar yellow bear readily letting Bobby squeeze what’s left of his arms’ stuffing between Bobby’s pinching fingers.

In the time that it took Hanbin to shower and get ready for bed, Bobby rehearsed various ways this conversation could go. But it was hard to plan for Hanbin. And for a few seconds more all they do is listen to the muffled voices and occasional footsteps outside the barricade of their closed door.

He can’t help but to think that if this should be some other night that Hanbin would simply walk over to him. Right up to the edge of the bed where Bobby normally leaves his legs to hang off from.

He’d stand there between his knees, hands on Bobby’s shoulders as Bobby runs his own hands slowly up the back of Hanbin’s legs. Up to the top where the soft skin and muscles divit to form the swell of his ass.

Then presses the flat of his forehead into the male’s lower abs, letting Hanbin curl his fingers through Bobby’s own showered, yet drying hair.

_“You worked hard,”_ Hanbin’d say. And Bobby always laughs at the joke. A funny habit Hanbin picked up when seeing Bobby’s typically straight hair twist into curls when wet.

Becoming all messy waves and spindles without direction opposed to the straightness and drying frizziness that Hanbin gets.

It was hair that his Aunt would always affectionately ruffle and say _“just like your mother’s”._ And although he loved the reminder, he did not let his Aunt see him like that very often.

But then there was Hanbin. Who with a dick eating smirk would even point it out when it was sweat that caused a strand here or there to coil.

_“You worked hard,”_ he’d whisper inside practice rooms and when Bobby is above him in bed. That same smirk, that same curious remark, but said with such a difference.

But as it is, Bobby’s legs are crossed on top of the bed and he isn’t inviting Hanbin any closer.

“Look,” Bobby starts, but he can’t meet Hanbin’s eyes anymore. He stares down at Pooh instead.

“I know we said we’d do this but,” Bobby closes his eyes for just a second. “I need you to know that I’m not forcing you to start telling me secrets or some shit. I’m just—”

He bites his tongue because he can feel the babble of words coming up his throat and he has to stop them.

In truth, of course he _wants_ to know everything. If it related to Hanbin than Bobby wanted it. But at the same time, he knows that _this_ knowledge was not something free to be taken.

It was something embedded in a history that he was not apart of. And subsequently has no _real_ right to.  

But he was frustrated by the enigma of it. The traces of its angst brought up in conversation and constantly getting skirted around.

Even with all the other truths that they have shared, it was that _not_ knowing that kept butting up against him. Occurring in the ways of white lies and shared looks.

And Bobby already knew when coming here that he would have to build up some kind of trust with each and every member in ikon. But he didn’t consider the price of his own trust put in them.

A trust that seemed worthless enough to deem him fit to be given lies and aversion.

And yet still, _“I don’t care that you have secrets, Hanbin.”_

He says it genuinely enough, because the lack of knowledge wasn’t what annoyed him.

Bobby looks up, even at the risk of his throat tightening when meeting Hanbin’s eyes.

“You lied,” Bobby says in a rasp. And then repeats it louder, more heated, to both attack Hanbin and his own insecurities with it.

“You _fucking_ ** _lied_** to me.” Bobby forces himself to take a breath, to lax the grip he has on Pooh before he tears an arm off.

“If you have things that you can’t or won’t talk about yet, that’s _fine_.” He squares his shoulders, taking in the look of concentration Hanbin wears. “You can just tell me that honestly, you don’t have to lie.”  

_“You have telltale signs,”_ Hanbin had once said behind the scenes months back, pointing out the arch that Bobby’s brow makes when he feigns a truth. And later, when they shared a bed and Hanbin had given him honesty when Bobby in turn pointed out Hanbin’s own truth keeping tell as well.

That was what shared knowledge felt like. A trust, an ability to cut through bullshit in order to strike something true.

It was a bond that forbade any further lack of anything but respect for the other. A wish to be elegant with the other’s heart and not lie knowing they could each tell apart that harm.

And yet here they are having this conversation.Maybe it was silly for Bobby to think that they were better than this. That their relationship was immune to such banal acts.  

Hanbin stares at him seemingly coming to a silent decision of his own. Moves straight to his desk, grabs the back of his rolling chair and swings it around until it’s right there in front of Bobby.

And then so is Hanbin. First sitting with his legs crossed, then not. His hands smoothing down his thighs to his knees.

Hanbin wasn’t looking at him, and for a small moment, Bobby foolishly thinks that this is it. That Hanbin had just decided to cut him loose.

“Nihilism,” Hanbin says instead.

Bobby leans forward like he heard that wrong, “what?”

“ _Nihilism_ ,” Hanbin repeats, carefully sounding out the foreign word through his accent. He leans back into the chair. “That’s the word tattooed near my shoulder.”

His fingers brush over it absently. The tattoo, currently hidden under the white cotton of his tee shirt, is still ingrained in Bobby’s mind. The black elegant lines forming english letters there across Hanbin’s pectoral.

A marking that Bobby knew when he once asked about it, was strongly personal to Hanbin.

“It’s German,” Hanbin explains, looking somewhere over Bobby’s shoulder. “It’s the name for a belief in nothingness. That everything will eventually perish and therefore should hold no value.”

Bobby scrunches his nose, “That’s fucking depressing.”

Hanbin looks at him, a smile forthcoming with one of his quiet restrained laughs.

“Yeah, I suppose it is,” Hanbin cocks his head to the side.

They’re quiet now. Watching, waiting on the other.

“Then why?” Bobby braves. Accepting that Hanbin is serious about this, that he’s in a way trying to amend for getting to this point.

“It’s an–” Hanbin looks up to the ceiling waving a hand to stir the right word loose from his mind. “An abstract reminder of what happened.”

Bobby grips Pooh a little more tightly as Hanbin continues.

“Before we debuted, I had gotten myself into a rough patch.” Hanbin’s eyes quickly fall back to his lap watching his fingers flatten a reappearing wrinkle in his sweats.

“I was obsessed with a song that would not work. I wasn’t sleeping well and had locked myself up in our old studio space. I had given up on everything else for this one thing. Until even finishing that song felt pointless.”

Hanbin’s words start to come with more bite, like he was mad at himself. Scolding a figment of his past self.

“I had reasoned with myself that if it wasn’t this song then it’d be something else. Another song, a dance step, there’d always be something I wasn’t good enough for.”

Hanbin breathes out through his nose, “I let that eat away at me. I had let that feeling of being _nothing_ make me into the worse version of myself for days. _Weeks_.”

Bobby sighs, the feeling Hanbin speaks of is not one so unfamiliar.

How many times has he battled the constant influx of his skill and his own inner critic? Digging pitfalls of depression for himself whenever he came up against one.

When he was lucky, that state of mind would only last a few days before he’d get himself righted. But there’s been times when such a feeling carried through one weekend into the next.

Weeks where Bobby acted careless, and picked fights just to feel something.

Times when Minho’s insurmountable friendship became a proven thing. Dragging him out of clubs and getting him home when Bobby was nothing but a tipsy mess of corny laughter and stupidity. Then staying with him as he sobered and waiting for the moment when Bobby spoke the worries of his mind.  

Bobby blows out a breath, raking a hand through his hair, surely further tangling his curls.

“ _Nihilism_ ,” Bobby repeats now, fully understanding the relatability to the pessimistic word.

“Yes,” Hanbin says mildly distracted by watching the way a few strands of hair fall back across Bobby’s forehead.

“Eventually, Jinhwan came.” Hanbin refocuses his attention. His eyes meeting Bobby’s stare. “Very nearly kicked down the studio door. Scared the shit out of me.”

Hanbin’s lips curve upward, “and well, you know how he can be.”

“Yes,” Bobby agrees, giving a small smile back. For once grateful for the oldest’s hardass nature. And thankful even more that Hanbin had a Minho of his own.

“When I think on it now,” Hanbin traces the angle the tattoo makes from his shoulder down, pressing his hand in close to his heart. The same spot he holds when he’s nervous.

“I’m reminded that I could fail, I could become nothing again.” He taps his finger against it and drops his hand back into his lap. “But also that I can rise above it, that I’ll always have the option and the support to overcome it.”

Bobby’s heart swells, overcomed with a certain amount of pride and wonderment over this boy.

Just a year younger and yet all the wiser.

And it’s silly now to think of all those predispositions and prejudices Bobby had, may still have, for company living and for their own differences.

It may have not been street fights and the lack of pocket change that led Hanbin here, but even in what should have been a sheltered life, Hanbin has faced his own share of hardships and inner demons.  

_“Hanbin is very hard headed,”_ Donghyuk had told Bobby once, and “ _sometimes he forgets that he is also_ **_mortal.”_ **

This silly, detective playing, food stealing boy was the main piece of ikon’s past that created concerned looks and heavy silences.

Bobby shakes his head, looking down again.

“They love you,” Bobby says looking at Pooh but intending it for Hanbin. He shifts his eyes back to him. “I hope you know that.”

Hanbin’s hands go flat on his thighs, seeming a little surprised by it.

“Of course,” he finally says.

Bobby just nods, looking away and ignoring the careful pause Hanbin leaves open in case he should want to add anyone else to that list of loving him.

“You must have heard some of this from Donghyuk,” Hanbin guesses.

“And Yunhyeong. And Jinhwan. And Chanwoo. And Junhoe,” Bobby lists. “But I didn’t know the details before.”

Bobby wiggles one of Pooh’s ears, “I just knew that they constantly worry.”

Hanbin leans forward, scooting the chair closer to the bed and angling himself into Bobby’s line of sight.

“Tell me you’re not gonna turn into a mom like the rest of them,” he says quite seriously.

Bobby shakes his head, a smile forthcoming because the setup was too good, “Hanbin, the jokes I have lined up in response for that one should not be said.”

Hanbin smiles the second he sees Bobby do so.

“Why?” He asks slyly. “Because I’m not a _mother fucker_?”

“I would surely fucking hope _not_ ,” Bobby curses.

Hanbin laughs, actually laughs that hiccupy humored sound. And _fuck_ is Bobby weak for it.

He rolls his eyes, not denying the humor in it. He moves Pooh to rest by their pillows and uncrosses his legs, leaving them to hang off the side of the bed.

“Don’t say anything,” Bobby warns. “Just come here before you do something else that’s equally stupid and offensive.”

Hanbin’s body sways toward him but that’s all it does.

Maybe Hanbin is thinking that it’s too easy for things to be so easily forgiven, that maybe Bobby still looks somewhat annoyed.

Bobby reaches out, hooking a finger behind Hanbin’s knee.

“Come here,” Bobby whispers. “I’m not mad.”

Disappointed maybe. But Hanbin had reached across that upset and offered a deeply personal truth that explains for so much of the oddities Bobby’s been subjected too.

And that key was something important, just like its owner.

Bobby pulls and Hanbin pushes himself out of the chair. His hands go right to Bobby’s shoulders and Bobby’s to the back of Hanbin’s legs. Until they become what it always is.

Except this is not just some other night where they forgive and forget.

They’re still slightly bruised and needy for the support in knowing that things are ok. That _this_ is still ok.

So Hanbin moves in closer. Bobby letting it happen. Reading it in the ways Hanbin’s body moves, the language it conveys and the weight he shifts in order to balance.  

It’s Hanbin placing a knee next to Bobby’s hip on the bed and Bobby helping him get his other leg to mirror the movement. Hoisting it right up to his other side.

The bed dips downward from the union of their weight. But, its then too Bobby’s hand on the small of Hanbin’s back and another on the round of his ass to keep him upright. To keep him from falling backward.

Hanbin clutches at his shoulders, the boy lowering himself slowly down onto Bobby’s thighs. His hips rolling to scoot his body up closer.

When there’s hardly any room between them, Hanbin finally settles.

Each leaning back just enough to see the other, Bobby looking up and Hanbin looking down as the position has changed the levelness of their heights.

Hanbin sweeps a strand of Bobby’s bangs off his forehead, a careful touch before he goes to bow his head down.

Bobby evades the aiming of Hanbin’s kiss, instead planting a kiss of his own to Hanbin’s left shoulder. Right where he knows the _m_ of the large nihilism tattoo lands.

He does it with a beloving reverence. His lips pressing against the fabric of Hanbin’s shirt to show a certain respect for what was below its cover.

Then, tired, he rests his forehead there in the same spot.

This close, Bobby can smell the floral perfume of Hanbin’s lotion, can feel the muscles shift as Hanbin moves to kiss the top of his head.

“Did you ever finish it?” Bobby mumbles into Hanbin’s chest.

“The song?” Hanbin asks. Bobby nods.

“Yes. Eventually.”

Bobby can feel Hanbin starting to twist strands of his thicker curls around his finger. Brushing out the wavy ones that had come to be knotty and tangled.

“It was on our first album.” Hanbin adds, _dada-da-da-_ ing the intro.

Bobby recognizes it right away as the song he heard so many moons ago while bussing tables. The song that had started it all.

Bobby moves his arms to fit around Hanbin’s waist. Hugging the boy into him more securely.

Hanbin wheezes from it, but holds Bobby’s head against him a little more firmly.  

“I’m sorry for this morning,” Hanbin says after a moment of silence passes. “But it’s still not something I want to talk about.”

It takes a long time for Bobby to reply. A certain anger still simmering over the stolen credit and the argument that ensued. But he could accept Hanbin’s benevolence for it even if he could not forgive the situation himself.

“ _Okay_.”

“Look at me,” Hanbin orders. Fingers finding their way to the underside of Bobby’s chin, moving lightly enough against him to tickle.

Bobby emits a soft _eyy_ , grabbing for Hanbin’s wrist with one hand as he leans his head back. They meet at eye level then, or as close to it as they can get with Hanbin still just a shy bit taller even when partly slouched.

“You were right, it was foolish of me to lie to you to avoid things,” Hanbin says. “It’s never my intention to hurt you.”

“I know,” Bobby whispers back and it goes unsaid in the serious way that they hold each other’s stare that this was another promise between them. One for honesty even when they don’t feel like talking.

Hanbin slips his hand from Bobby’s hold and quickly sneaks in a kiss to the tip of his nose.

“Okay,” Hanbin preens, combing back some of Bobby’s hair again before moving from his lap.  

But Bobby refuses to make the going easy. He keeps his arms around Hanbin’s waist and he doesn’t let go even when Hanbin starts trying to twist himself out of reach.

Bobby laughs then because it’s becoming awkward and clumsy as fuck.

Hanbin leans to the right of him, trying to use him as an axis to swivel himself on to the bed with. His hands pushing at Bobby’s back for leverage and looking more like he’s about to climb over him instead before Bobby finally drops him.

Hanbin _oofs_ face first into the sheets.

And Bobby grabs at the leg still caught across his lap, holding the ankle and running a line down Hanbin’s foot before tossing the leg over as well.

Hanbin nearly knees him in the face for it, mumbling something rude all the while.

Bobby tsks, turning around the other way to slap the younger’s ass for it. But Hanbin quickly flips on to his side, sliding up closer to the top of the bed and looking a little pleased with himself about missing the reprimand.

“What else do you want to know?” Hanbin asks, trying for casualness. But he’s betrayed by the flush in his face and the shakiness of his words as he tries to regain his breath.

He props himself up on an elbow. His coolness just an act. Especially when Hanbin, spotting a lonesome Pooh bear, reaches out and brings the plushy in closer to him. Sitting him up against his chest so that they can both stare Bobby down.

And foolishly Bobby thinks of the moon and the stars and the sun and why it might be that his whole world revolves around this one male. This dorky, insatiable boy who might just love Bobby back in the same way.

“How is it that I’m attracted to you,” Bobby says more in wonderment, lacking a real question behind it.

“I honestly don’t know,” Hanbin says equally awed before switching it out for a grin. “I think I heard it’s cause I make really, _really_ , good music.”

“ _Oh?_ Do you?”

“ _Yes_ ,” the _s_ of it a delighted hiss. “Enough to make you beg for me to come up on stage.”

He feels Hanbin trail the point of his foot up his spine. The touch making his back arch to escape it.

“I didn’t _beg_ ,” he snaps, smacking Hanbin’s foot away.

“No,” Hanbin assents. Dropping his leg. “You just dissed me _wantonly_.”

Bobby snorts. Which in turn makes Hanbin laugh that curious sound and Bobby thinks he should admit how happy it makes him to hear it. How much he loves it.

“That sounds like the truth,” Bobby jokes instead, laying himself down on his back in front of Hanbin.

He turns his head to face him again.

Hanbin places a hand on Bobby’s stomach and Bobby rests one of his own on top it.

“What else?” Hanbin asks. “I could tell you the name of Seonsaengnim’s dog.”

Bobby makes a face, “and what good will that do for me when you already know that I’m a cat person?”

“He loves his dog,” Hanbin says simply. “It’d be good small talk.”

“Am I to be caught in an elevator with him sometime soon?”

“You never know.”

Bobby just shakes his head, glances at Pooh and then back to the ceiling.

“How about why you picked me,” he asks.

“Because you have abs and laugh at all my jokes, _obviously._ ”

Bobby rolls his eyes, that wasn’t what he meant and Hanbin knew that. But Bobby has a quip for it anyway.

“I’m sorry to have misled you Hanbin, but I haven’t been laughing at the _jokes_.”

Bobby looks back at him, and they both smile.

Hanbin arches a brow, “I thought we _just_ agreed to not lie about things anymore?”

“Was I included in that? I wasn’t sure.”

Hanbin moves his hand from Bobby’s stomach to trace the arch of Bobby’s own brow.

“You still suck at it,” Hanbin whispers. And Bobby remembers the first time Hanbin had told him of his tell, back before meeting in parks and worrying the managers.

How long ago that feels now. More so when he considers how he’s here in Hanbin’s bed, his _boyfriend’s_ bed. Practicing under YG and still debating if to stay or not.

It took months to get here and now his three-week trial run is starting to dwindle down to days. And he’s still a bit clueless to the why of it all. Why now, why him, why Hanbin was willing to risk all that already was.

“I still want to know,” Bobby says.

Hanbin moves his hand back from Bobby’s face, “but you must have some idea?”

“For picking me?” Bobby shrugs, “because I’m good. Because I’m better than the rest. Because I have abs and great humor.”

They share a look, acknowledging the inside joke starting to take bloom. Hanbin’s lips pull up but he glances down at Pooh before it can become anything more.  

“Do you know why you’re so good Bobby?”

Bobby watches Hanbin softly rub at the underside of Pooh’s chin, the doll’s head flopping to the side like a dog to affection.

“Tell me.”

“When you rap or even when you talk, or laugh, or whisper — your voice carries.”

Hanbin rights Pooh’s head back up again, “there’s a certain rawness to it that hits straight through to the emotions. Your anger becomes palpable. Your excitement, contagious. But even in your highest highs there is an indescribable angst. And that _angst_ resonates with the listener whether they want it to or not.”

Bobby swallows. It’s sometimes hard for him to judge himself. To let his built up ego over battle wins and video views fall away and study himself critically through an outsider’s perspective.

But hearing the depth in the way Hanbin describes him, it takes it beyond just good stage presence or sick lines.

He makes it feel like truly being seen. And Bobby clings to every word Hanbin says even if it forces him to wonder over himself in ways he never thought to before. In ways he may not have even wanted to.

“That talent,” Hanbin continues, looking back up at him. “Is not teachable in a studio setting. There are many who would want to copy you and yet will fall short because they simply do not have the experience to support it.”

“Is that really what makes me good?”

“It’s what makes me _want_ you.”

There’s a hunger in the way he says it. A sparking carnality that’s both possessive and driven.

The gaze too that Hanbin holds on him, is one born from predator like sharpness that Bobby’s only seen in practice rooms and stage performances. And Bobby’s body automatically awakens to it.

His bottom lip slips beneath the overhang of his teeth and Hanbin’s eyes go right to it.

Bobby likes that, thinking he has it in him to ask for a kiss. To have Hanbin lean over him and let their lips meet. But he knows it would do them no good to put off all the things they still need to talk about.

Bobby shakes his head to clear it. But then it’s Hanbin’s hand finding Bobby’s. An innocent touch, just something to tide them over. But it snaps Bobby’s rationality.

He grabs for Hanbin’s forearm with the same hand and pulls the male over to him. His other hand going right to the back of Hanbin’s neck.

“I still have more to ask,” Bobby says with some annoyance at himself right before kissing Hanbin squarely on the lips.

Hanbin nods a little too fast, knocking Bobby’s nose hard with the bone of his cheek.

“Sorry,” he breathes out. And if Bobby wasn’t so intent on keeping Hanbin’s mouth on his, he might laugh at the embarrassment Hanbin has for it.

“Ask me,” Hanbin says in equal breathlessness. Their heads angling for better positionings, mouths staying close and chins jutting in a semi chaotic rhythm. “You can ask me anything you want, Jiwon.”

Bobby feels like a tidal wave breaking on the rocks. Explosive and powerful and kissing Hanbin harder for supplying such a rush.

“I can’t think,” he finally admits. Cause like this, the only thing on his mind is how good it feels to kiss Hanbin after all that today was.

“Then maybe we shou—“ Bobby stops him from finishing with teeth and tongue and Hanbin doesn’t argue it.

Maybe it was just the tension from the morning finally breaking. Or perhaps it’s from having parts of their inner workings bared and understood. Or more than likely it was the both of those reasons combined that drives them forward.

Hanbin moves his body in closer. Bobby rolling more on to his side to meet him.

“Just talk,” Bobby manages, a gruff gurgle of a sound. “Tell me about the future.”

“Okay. _Yes_ ,” Hanbin agrees quickly, excitedly, like he’s been waiting all night for it to come to this.

Hanbin pushes him back, lifting himself back up and over Bobby. Moving his lips from Bobby’s mouth down to his neck.

“You’re versatile,” Hanbin says, the sound mumbled against him. “If I could put you on a rock song with Junhoe. It’d be–“

Hanbin pauses for a breath, pressing his nose to Bobby’s jaw, “it’d be _something_.”

And in the way he says it, it sounds like it ought to mean _everything_.

Bobby slips his hands down to Hanbin’s waist as the latter gets a leg between Bobby’s to balance himself.

“But I can’t do that, yet.”

Bobby grips at the loose fabric of Hanbin’s shirt, fisting it in his hands. “Why?”

Hanbin kisses his temple, a breath of a silent laugh coming out as he talks, “because once you get a song that sells, everyone expects you to deliver the same kind of content.”

Hanbin settles his hands on either side of Bobby’s head, staring him down as he rises above him on all fours. “It’s a **trap**.”

The words linger like they themselves were closing in on Bobby.

“Admit it,” Hanbin swoops down to Bobby’s ear, lips against it. His tone light, “when you first saw me you thought idol _fuck_ boy. When you saw ikon you thought it was just another group with catchy pop songs.”

Bobby losses a breath, his ears still ringing from Hanbin calling himself an _idol fuck boy_. But he shakes his head, brows furrowing as he tries to push past the sudden haze on his mind.

“No,” he says solemnly. Even though he made the disses for it, “no, I knew you were different from the rest.

Hanbin kisses the lobe of his ear, “it’s because we are one in the same.”

And hearing it now, Bobby can agree to it even if he feels he’s sometimes so much less in comparison.

“You and I,” Hanbin whispers, lowering his body in closer. “We’re not made to please the masses. And it would be naive of you to consider yourself to be _just_ a rapper when you can be so much more.”

Bobby starts to shake his head.

“No?” Hanbin moves back to look at him. “You don’t believe me?”

Bobby stares back, his voice coming out quiet and unsure, “I don’t know.”

“Because you know nothing else?”

_Maybe_ , Bobby thinks.

Hanbin’s expression softens, “music at its rawest form is nothing but a collection of sound. Give it a composition and it becomes a story, it becomes a song. And if it’s a good one, then it evokes emotion.”

Hanbin shifts his weight to lift a hand, combing the bangs back off Bobby’s forehead, “when I say that we are not so different, I mean to say that we are both artists.”

Bobby drops the fabric of Hanbin's shirt, pushing it up and going for the skin beneath it.

Hanbin leans down, his hand moving to cup Bobby’s jaw and his lips pressing right between Bobby’s brows.

Bobby closes his eyes to it, his hands inching up higher.

Hanbin returns to kissing at his neck, finding his favorite spot on the underside of Bobby’s jaw where Bobby thinks Hanbin likes to feel the beat of his heart.

“And?” Bobby urges, eyes reopening. Wondering if Hanbin forgot to go on.

Hanbin sighs against him.

“Artists should not be niched,” the hand on Bobby’s jaw slips back to the bed and Hanbin rights himself above him again. “We must be allowed to grow, to experiment, to use whatever medium that’s available to precisely tell our stories. That’s the freedom I want.”

Once Bobby had flung that word so easily at Hanbin not realizing that Hanbin’s own version of _freedom_ meant something grander. 

This was worth more than just being able to say anything he wanted, filter off. It was more than what Bobby could ever dream up on his own, to be free to chase any form of expression.

It was wanting the right to be true to oneself. True to music as an art form and not just something for public consumption or media appraisal.

It was about fucking up the system. And Bobby liked this, loves Hanbin’s greed for it.

“I won’t be asking you to sing opera any time soon,” Hanbin cuts through Bobby’s thoughts to say, smile on display. “And I can still write the catchy all kill singles as well as I can take a shit.”

Bobby snorts then. His own smile forthcoming.

“But everything else...” Hanbin says it a little dreamily and when Bobby looks up into Hanbin’s eyes he finds himself reflected.

Suspended there within the depthlessness that forces daydreams of endless night skies. Of old dying stars getting recycled into newer, younger bodies.

And maybe Hanbin was one of these, made of celestial atoms and otherworldly wisdom.

“Would you want that?” Hanbin whispers, his mouth coming closer to Bobby’s. Sounding more like he was asking if Bobby wanted the world hand delivered to him from Hanbin himself.

“Yes,” Bobby breathes into the kiss that comes to him. Thinking on how Hanbin was on to something. That he might just want to see this through. That Hanbin could do him no harm.

“Good,” Hanbin’s voices shakes. “Because I need you. I need you to make them listen. To make me better—“

Bobby drops his hands from Hanbin’s waist to thread his fingers through Hanbin’s hair. To hold Hanbin’s head still so Bobby can kiss him harder when Hanbin’s voices cracks on his urgency for all that could be.

“I need you,” Hanbin keeps saying against his lips.

Bobby shushes him. Tries to calm him.

“Bobby,” Hanbin whispers.

“Get on your back,” Bobby instructs.

And they’re moving together trying to flip their positions. Bobby guiding Hanbin’s body as the boy tries to keep their mouths together.

“Take this off,” Bobby motions when they get to sitting upright, pulling up on the hem of Hanbin’s tee shirt.

It comes off without so as much as a flourish. Leaving nothing behind but a bare chest that Bobby worships as if it means everything to him.

He kisses at the shoulders that hold everything up, at the neck that vocalizes his name, at the heart center that nurtures passion, and all along the tattoo that has its own neverending story.

Bobby kisses dots to the _i_ ‘s of the word, hands gripping Hanbin’s waist has he finally twists them back on to the bed.

Their legs tangle briefly, one of Hanbin’s trapped between Bobby’s. But then they’re back to kissing and it doesn’t really matter.

He moves down Hanbin’s neck again, then lower than that, and further still.

“I’m still thinking,” Bobby says quickly. Maybe feeling that he was agreeing to too much at once.

Hanbin nods his head, “I know.”

And maybe Hanbin already figured him all out.

“But...” Bobby tries to push the right words to his tongue. The ones worth saying out loud. The ones that convey that he wants Hanbin. That he wants this dream to become reality, that he could trust Hanbin to get them all there. And that he could stay.

Bobby _could_ stay.

“It’s okay,” Hanbin assures languidly. “You don’t have to say it now.”

Bobby nods, feeling the shame in not being able to say all he wants just yet.

He lets his hands skim along Hanbin’s sides, the boy beneath him shifting on the bed ever so slightly.

“Stay,” Bobby says knowing the irony in that. Knowing it’s not the first time he asked Hanbin for this.

But he’s tired of Hanbin continually leaving before dawn without him.

“Let me wake up to you,” Bobby presses, lowering himself to kiss at a hip bone. “Please.”

Hanbin’s whole body decompresses like he too was exhausted by it and needed only this to realize that.

“Okay,” he agrees on an exhale. Eyes slipping close.

Bobby pulls at the loose waistband on Hanbin’s hips, moving them down.

“Okay,” he repeats before taking Hanbin into his mouth.

 

* * *

* * *

 

Bobby wakes up feeling like he’s on fire.

It might have something to do with the way Hanbin has gotten Bobby form fitted and spooned against his chest. The boy even getting a leg over Bobby hips like he’s some kind of body pillow.

But the back of his neck is clammy with sweat and it feels like his shirt might be too.

Bobby pushes himself up, debating the merits of walking across the dorm to splash some water on his face and change his shirt. Or maybe no shirt considering how touchy Hanbin’s been tonight.

Or is it morning? He looks to Hanbin's radio clock. Just an hour past midnight. He hadn’t even slept that long before waking up like this.

He pushes Hanbin’s leg off as he sits up properly.

The boy is a complete dead weight. Which just makes Bobby wonder how on earth Hanbin can be both the person who can sleep through anything and the one that kept leaving before dawn.

Except today. Because Bobby had asked. And he hopes he doesn’t have to ask again. But knowing Hanbin’s work ethic, it probably wouldn’t be the last time. A small price to pay if it means Bobby just had to every so often remind him what’s worth resting for.

Bobby combs back the bangs that have fallen in front of Hanbin’s eyes and then leaves the bed.  


 

* * *

* * *

 

 

**~~Bonus:~~ **

They lay on the bed, Bobby’s upper body partially draped across Hanbin’s chest.

“ _You worked hard,_ ” Hanbin says, fingering the small section of Bobby’s bangs that’ve been dampened by sweat.

Bobby snickers, knocking the back of his head playfully against Hanbin’s shoulder.

Hanbin looks down at him and at this angle it reveals double chins and views right up the boy’s nose.

“Charming.” Bobby says in jest, shifting slightly away from it. He resettles himself on Hanbin’s stomach.

“Thanks.” Hanbin yawns, propping himself up on an elbow.

He still has that post-climax glow. And it’s a little alarming how exalted Hanbin looks with it, double chin and all.

Bobby prides himself over being the cause for it. Which must be making him smile like a damn fool because he can feel it in his cheeks and it makes Hanbin automatically smile back at him, tugging on the strands of his hair.

“What?”

Bobby nuzzles the side of his face against Hanbin’s skin, “nothing.”

He feels all bubbly and light. Like everything is finally back in place and this moment was about to stretch into infinity.

“Tell me another truth,” he says.

Hanbin hums softly, “okay.”

Bobby turns to look at Hanbin’s legs. One side of his sweats have ridden up to his knee and Bobby gets the back of his hand to it, finger skimming the smooth skin there.

“You shave?” Bobby asks cause he’s yet to see more than stubble on Hanbin’s appendages. “Like everywhere yourself?”

Hanbin snorts. Bobby turns back to him.

“Waxed,” Hanbin sounds humored by the question.

“They make you?” Bobby asks a little surprised. Although maybe he shouldn’t be considering the beauty trends of other idols.

“It’s optional and I only do it during promotions.”

Bobby laughs a little, just thinking of how vocal Hanbin can be on other pain inducing things. Especially during sex when a slap to the ass could set him off.

Hanbin smacks the back of his head as if to say he knows what Bobby is thinking.

“You’re a masochist,” Bobby chances a little teasingly.

“Not like _that_ ,” Hanbin hisses. “And aren’t you just lucky to be fairly hairless.”

“Except for where it counts,” Bobby replies cooly.

Hanbin only smacks him again.

Bobby flips over moving up on all four to meet Hanbin’s stare.

“You must be a total bear,” Bobby muses. “How long do I have to wait to see you in your natural state?”

“You already saw the preview between my legs,” Hanbin says trying to keep his voice low but even he can’t stop the laugh that comes when Bobby makes a face at him.

It must be all that lightheadedness catching up to him because now Bobby feels high with it. Like one more smile would burst him.

Bobby knocks Hanbin’s head back with a finger, “you’re too much.”

And then as if not seeing Hanbin’s face would make his heart rate return to normal, Bobby dives down gathering Hanbin up in his arms and tucking his head into the crook of Hanbin’s neck.

He collapses himself onto the boy, forcing Hanbin to lose his breath. But the latter doesn’t complain, only wraps his own arms around Bobby.

“You don’t even have a lot of armpit hair,” Hanbin thinks out loud.

“ _Shut up_.”

“But it’s true,” Hanbin says getting an armful of an aggressively wriggling Bobby and an earful of his loudest siren like whine, muffled only slightly by Hanbin’s chest.

It doesn’t phase Hanbin though. The boy only holds on tighter and smiles down at him knowing it’ll just annoy Bobby more.

But the same can’t be said about the rest of the dorm. Or the neighbors for that matter.

A pounding sounds off from both the floor and the ceiling.

Bobby stops immediately after that.

“Good going,” Hanbin chides.

Bobby simply clears his throat, his eyes closing soon after.

 

 

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **HAPPY 1 YEAR ANNIVERSARY TO RAP WITH ME <3 **Can you believe it? I didn't intend for it to go on for this long, like date wise. But it just goes to show how much can happen in a year. But yes the 8th was the official date asdfghjkl. 
> 
> I know I keep saying this in every update but seriously thank you for each and every reader out there. I hope you liked the backstory for Hanbin here and then the fluff that came directly after that even I wasn't expecting lmao. Like hello, lets get more of Bobby going down and lap sitting.
> 
> So a few credits for inspiration to give out:  
> \- For Hanbin's tattoo I expanded on the following tweet by paradigmist [ [X](https://twitter.com/paradigmist/status/694587609578807296) ] but the song Hanbin sings back to Bobby here and the song Bobby first sees by ikon on tv is NOT Empty but rather Rhythm Ta.
> 
> \- And when talking about the feeling in Bobby's raps, I actually based it on a comment I received from a reader on Mouse Trap. So kudos to you "tea" for making me feel equally seen in ways I did not expect to be. 
> 
> And finally love to my beta [Aby](http://shimco.tumblr.com/) who hates the word mussed.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The calm before the storm.

The ding of the microwave is unmistakable as Bobby moves past the closed partition doors of the kitchen.

The back of his neck prickles. It could very well be a manager. But Bobby urges himself to believe that it’s more likely to be Chanwoo. As the younger is more notorious for staying up late when a snoring roommate makes him restless.

And now since Bobby too is in no rush to return to bed, he welcomes the chance of some companionship that might help distract him from the things he’s left unsaid with Hanbin.

But, as he slides the one door open to reveal a space illuminated by nothing other than the under cabinet lighting, he’s faced with the dawning realization of who it is that’s actually standing there. And very nearly closes the door again.

He doesn’t though. And whether it’s because Bobby loses the chance to win the second he hesitated or for knowing that doing so would be more awkward than not, he isn’t sure.

Regardless, it wasn’t as though Bobby minded being alone with this member. They were friendly. Could be caring at best, and only lacked common points of interest to talk about. Which left most of their interactions short and drifting, which didn’t bother Bobby one bit.

But it brought amusement to the others. Especially Hanbin. Whose eyes always seemed to add an unnerving extra pressure and attention to them that discomforted Bobby more than anything. 

However, at this time of night away from everyone else Bobby figures that being alone with the younger male might not be so bad.

He doesn’t even seem all that surprised with him being there. Just slightly bemused and rumpled from sleep.

Their eyes meet as Bobby steps in closer. He keeps the counter of the kitchen island and the freshly steaming commercial bowl of spicy ramen between them. A pair of chopsticks lay neatly across the plastic film of the lid to help them soften.

“You’re eating again?” He asks, hunching over the black marble surface. Enjoying the chill of the stone against the skin of his forearms.

The younger male shrugs, _“yes.”_

And when Bobby’s this close he can just make out the messy discolored food stains of meals past on Junhoe’s white tee shirt.

Bobby manages a nod.

He’s still always somewhat taken aback by the commonplace bluntness Junhoe exhibits. It made any and all tries at continuing conversation hard.

And if Bobby should want to chase it further, he’d then have to offer more of himself to do so. Which feels more like getting the short end of the stick than being socially engaged.

Bobby drops his eyes back down. Focusing instead on the ramen and becoming rather transfixed on watching the escaping tendrils of steam curl up through the breaks of light around Junhoe’s shadow.

“You can have some,” Junhoe softly braves when the thin smokey arms have since started to lessen and slow.

Bobby shakes his head, _“Nah. I’m not...”_ But Junhoe is already pushing a second pair of chopsticks towards him and that makes Bobby pause.

He hadn’t seen Junhoe move away to get those. For the whole time he was here, Bobby was certain Junhoe had yet to move even an inch. And yet those utensils couldn’t just have happened to be there.

Not when Yunhyeong cleans and re-cleans this domain. 

Bobby swallows. His is throat suddenly tight as he recalls all the things the members have told him about Junhoe. The caring nature they gave to someone so gullible and seemingly carefree.

And maybe that makes Bobby uneasy. To have his moods so easily figured out by someone he hardly speaks too. More so when he considers that this spontaneous meeting might not be so random after all.

“It’s too much for me to eat by myself,” Junhoe whispers, sounding a little unsure.

Bobby means to laugh, but it gets caught on the snort of his disbelief.

It’s an obvious lie. But he sees it for what it is. An olive branch. Just like all the leaving of snacks and redbulls on his pillow.

He reaches out for the chopsticks. And besides, isn't this what he wanted anyway? Before he opened the door and found out that it was Junhoe, didn’t he just want someone to talk to? To distract him?

“ _Pabo_ ,” Bobby chides with a soft smile because maybe this proves that Bobby has gone soft for him. “Where’d you even get this contraband?”

“Fangifts.” Junhoe smiles, his shoulders instantly relaxing with it.

It feels suddenly mischievous and thrilling to do this.

“ _Sneaky_ ,” Bobby hums as he hands Junhoe back the first set of chopsticks and quietly peels back the plastic cover.

The wet heat hits them first and then it’s the savory smell of spice and broth.

Bobby’s mouth waters despite himself.

“Junhoe,” he whispers as he starts to stir the noodles. “Thanks for this.”

 

 

“So,” Junhoe speaks around a mouth full of food. Pausing only to breathe out some of the heat before continuing. “Are you staying?”

When Junhoe asks it, it sounds so casual. Like Bobby could say yes or no and Junhoe’s response wouldn’t much differ.

Bobby slides the bowl back to over himself and drinks in some of the broth.

The tone in his voice drops from the thick heat in his throat and the salty tang on his tongue, “it honestly doesn’t seem like you would care either way.”

“You’re a rapper, not a singer,” Junhoe holds his hand out for another ration. Bobby passes the ramen back over.

“So? What does that have to do with it?”

“I wouldn’t lose any lines,” Junhoe says simply. But it’s the slight smirk to Junhoe’s lips that give the joke away.

Bobby shakes his head, “you’re the first of your kind.”

Junhoe’s smile broadens but Bobby can see it in his eyes that he doesn’t fully get what he means.

“I like the number seven though,” Junhoe says. Which sounds sincere until Junhoe’s loud slurping disrupts it.

But Bobby still likes the sentiment.

“So then you agree with Hanbin.” Bobby states, clinking his set of chopsticks against the counter.

There’s a noodle hanging from Junhoe’s lips when he replies. Which should be funny except his voice sounds so condemning when he says, _“We will always agree with Hanbin.”_

“Why?”

“For everything,” Junhoe says. “But also because we **too** think we could do more with you as a seventh member.”

Bobby lets that sink in. Passing on Junhoe’s offer to let him finish off the last dregs of the ramen. And quiet still when Junhoe scatters the remnants of their meeting to either the sink or the trash.

“I trust him too.”

Junhoe looks back at him, maybe realizing the admission for what it was, or maybe not. It was hard to tell what Junhoe did and didn’t understand.

But Bobby doesn’t mind. With anyone else, it wouldn’t have been as easy to declare.

He smiles something self consciously sweet and turns back towards the door before it’s found out, “goodnight Junhoe.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

Hanbin finds his arm in the lakes of shadows shrouding their bed.

“There you are,” a sleepy mumble. The end of the greeting elongated with a whine as Hanbin stretches. His hand briefly gripping him tighter before going slack again.

 _“Come,”_ Hanbin faintly whispers and Bobby surrenders himself back into the full encompassing embrace this boy supplies him. Admirably finding that his side of the bed has shrunken since Bobby left it last.

For there is no movement he could possibly make now that didn’t have him bumping Hanbin or precariously tittering off the edge.

“Was there something wrong with your side of the bed?” Bobby asks, not that he’d actually let the firm chest of Hanbin move away from his back now.

“Yes,” Hanbin kisses his shoulder. “You weren’t on it.”

Bobby grins like the fucking fool he is, “that’s dumb.”

 _“Lies,”_ Hanbin hisses, sliding a hand down his chest. “You wanted to hear me say it.”

 _“Lies,”_ Bobby copies in obvious jest.

Hanbin kisses him behind the ear, hand just beginning to dip under the band of Bobby’s pants.

Bobby rocks his hip forward to halt it, his stomach too full for this.

“I just ate,” and it has Hanbin physically deflating as he says it, his hand stalling on the sensitive skin just below Bobby’s hip.

Bobby pretends to ignore it. 

“Without me?” Hanbin sounds offended.

Bobby snorts, “with Junhoe.”

The gasp Hanbin makes is comical. And Bobby’s own mirth over it shakes them both.

“It was a _date_ ,” Hanbin whispers scandalously.

“ _Hanbin,_ ” Bobby softly bumps the boy behind him. “He said he couldn’t finish and offered to share.”

“That’s some cute ass bullshit,” Hanbin tsks. “Was it awkward?”

“You’re the one who makes it awkward,” Bobby’s voice pitches, worked up into an unexpected whine. He huffs when it only draws a heaving breath of laughter from Hanbin.

The boy teases him further with peppered kisses to the skin above his shirt collar.

Bobby hunches his shoulders up to block him, as if that’d actually give him the upper hand.

“You’re fucking adorable,” Hanbin mumbles right against the shell of his ear. Inflaming the spreading coloration of cherries on his neck.  

The hand on his hip moves again too and Bobby is caught fighting through surges of arousal and symptoms of heartburn to deny this.

“ _Hanbin_ ,” Bobby snaps ready to pull the male’s hand away. But Hanbin voluntarily retreats from his pants entirely on his own accord.

“ _Yes_ , _sorry I know._ ” Hanbin concedes in what sounds like one long word. He flops himself backwards away from Bobby.

Instantly Bobby misses the warmth of them pressed together. But Hanbin’s hand comes back a little more subdued this time. Trailing up his spine and stopping between his shoulder blades.

Hanbin traces over his shirt where a ring of script sits engraved on his skin beneath it, “tell me about your tattoo.”

The touch tingles and for awhile Bobby doesn’t answer. He doesn’t bring himself to think about that tattoo a lot. Not for it being bad or unwanted, but rather it means so much to him.

“Why?”

Which is a stupid question, but the boy keeps the judgment out of his voice when he answers him.

“I need a distraction.”

Bobby breaths in knowing that even with this admission that Hanbin has still shared more with him than he has in reverse.  

“It’s something I got done with my father and brother,” he closes his eyes. “We each have one that matches.”

And they had promised a second one the next time they could all be together. But that promise was from years ago and there lays miles and miles between them.

“You have a brother,” Hanbin whispers. Maybe realizing like Bobby that in all this time there were still things to learn about the other.

Bobby gives in, “he’s older.”

“You miss him,” Hanbin treads softly. Like he too knew it to be true.

“Pooh was once his,” Bobby admits. And it was the only thing of his that he got to keep.

“Once?” Hanbin humors. “Did you steal him?”

“He _gave_ him to me,” Bobby intones. But he picks up on Hanbin’s attempt to lighten the sudden downturn in his mood and grabs for it, “because Pooh _obviously_ liked me better.”

Hanbin chuckles softly from somewhere behind him and lets it fall to rest.

“I have a younger sister,” he says after a pause. The affection in it overflowing even as Hanbin’s voice drops into something a little remorseful. “That’s her in the picture above my desk.”

Bobby opens his eyes as if he could possibly make out the small innocently dimpled girl in the framed photograph across the darkened room.

He blinks.

“Every time I go home she’s grown more and more,” Hanbin sighs and the both of them fall silent.  

Bobby doesn’t have the right words to offer Hanbin, but he adjusts the arm he’s laying on and slides that hand over his waist. Letting his fingers reach out, knowing it wouldn’t be long before Hanbin finds them and interlocks them with his own.

When he does, Bobby continually tugs on the bond until Hanbin’s chest and body is back up against him.

Hanbin realigns himself with a low apologetic mummer of _, “sorry if you feel something, I’m still a little....you know.”_

“Don’t make this weird.”

“Is that weird?”

“My ass is no prude,” Bobby bites.

Hanbin makes a small laughing noise, “okay.”

And maybe this could have waited ‘til morning, or some other time when having Hanbin against him doesn’t make him feel like it’s all alright. That things could always be this easy and safe.

But as unnerving as some corporate future might be, Bobby keeps falling back on Hanbin’s dream. And from it, he knows a few key things wouldn’t change.

The style of music might, the stories told might too. But the passion, the message, and the desire to deliver something that reminded people of what it meant to be alive. How it feels to breathe, to have emotion and empathy, and to move singularly with him.

Bobby could still obtain that in spades, more so with someone like Hanbin at his side.

But if he was going to seriously uproot everything he already built for himself, then he needed to know this one thing too.

Bobby squeezes the hand threaded with his, “tell me how this works.”

Hanbin stifles a yawn, “how what..?”

“If I stay,” he speaks not realizing the spell it casts in its saying. The intensity it gives away.

For Bobby swears he can hear the very air move around them. The low, heavy droning of its sound. Also the buzz of Hanbin’s digital clock at the bedside and the beat of his own heart.

Maybe this was how it felt to embody time. To feel the very life and death of every second between his question and Hanbin’s response.

Hanbin further encircles his arm around Bobby’s waist. Fingers squeezing his in return.

“If you stay,” Hanbin repeats.

And yet when he casts it, he adds a little wistfulness of quiet reserved joy to his voice. Like he too learned the spell but also of how to disperse of its apprehension. Thus settling the room’s rhythm back to its normal decibels. 

“The song you’ve been practicing with us will be released with you presented as a featured artist,” Hanbin starts. “And when that garners enough attention, the b side track will be a debut song of our own.”

“Of **_our_ ** _own_ ,” Bobby feels his heart jump at that. “A new song?”

“ _No_ ,” Hanbin’s singing tone urges him to guess again.

Bobby’s lips twitch because _of course,_ it should be one that they already know so well. One that they’ve even nicknamed as _“the love song,”_ he answers thinking of their collaboration. Of Hanbin’s last line in it and the stupid smiles they get when they say it with _‘our’_ in the title.

It’s a joke of theirs. At least, for as long as they keep pretending it to be. And even now Bobby can make out the movement of Hanbin’s mouth against his neck. The drawn bow of those lips and the plumping of soft rounded cheeks.

“Yes,” he breathes out hot on Bobby’s skin.

Bobby’s toes curl, “and then?”

“We promote those songs. Take them to tv and maybe some radio recordings,” Hanbin pauses abruptly as something had dawned on him.

“I’ll see you in makeup,” he ventures.

Bobby laughs, crackly and breathy in the back of his throat. “Why would that make such a difference?”

Hanbin stirs behind him, his nose nuzzling in close to Bobby’s ear.

“I’d ride you all day if you had even a smidge of thick eyeliner around your eyes.”

Bobby turns his head back, surprised.

Hanbin meets his stare. And in this lighting, Bobby knows Hanbin can see more of him than he can when Hanbin is in silhouette against the windows. But a glint of a smirk catches the light and it’s all Bobby needs to see to make his dinner churn with the sudden onslaught of winged fluttering and rushing blood.

He swallows, his voice dropping. “I bet Junhoe has some in his room.”

“If anyone should have it it’d be Jinhwan.”

“Then you’d have to get it.”

Hanbin quickly nips his jaw, “you wouldn’t even let me touch your dick earlier you fucking tease.”

“Well I didn’t say _tonight_ ,” Bobby pushes his shoulder back, coming to lay on his back as Hanbin gives him the space.

He brings the hand held within his up to his lips where he nips the bone of Hanbin’s wrist. “But I’ll hold you to it.”

Hanbin’s smile grows, “if we do it when my leg hair grows back then we’ll knock two of your kinks out at once.”

Bobby snorts loudly, painfully, at the unexpected reference. It bubbles into a laugh and he shakes his head, eyes closing.

“ _Hanbin_ ,” he says with redirection. “Get back to what you were explaining before. Promoting the songs..”

Hanbin hums a note, a thoughtfulness to it that Bobby suspects is more from Hanbin studying him than actual thinking.

Bobby switches to squinting, peering at Hanbin and catching him when the boy quickly leans in to kiss him on the mouth. Except Bobby doesn’t stop him and instead kisses him back.

“ _Thief_ ,” he accuses afterwards.

“ _Cheater,_ ” Hanbin whispers back.

Bobby grins, “please do continue.”

Hanbin wiggles himself up onto one elbow.

“Well,” he sighs. “It’s kinda standard after that. We promote with you until interest is at a peak. Then YG addresses the rumors and confirms you to be the added member.”

“You make it sound easy.”

Hanbin makes a tsking sound, “ **that** _is_ the easy part. The hard part is you learning _all_ our choreographies and me splitting the raps in the old songs to include you in live shows.”

“Admit it,” Bobby says. “You like that challenge.”

Hanbin runs the edge of his thumb along Bobby’s, “only if you admit it first.”

Bobby takes a breath just to feel his chest rise with it. To feel the weight of their hands above his heart.

“Are you scared?” He asks instead of answering.

“I’d be lying if I said no.”

“It’s a lot,” Bobby swallows. “For you and ikon. **_For us._ ** For me and the life I’m used too.”

“I know,” Hanbin squeezes his hand. “But what’s excitement without a little fear to make it thrilling?“

When Bobby doesn’t answer Hanbin nudges him. “More than anything else, it reminds me of the first time I performed on stage.”

“Tell me,” Bobby rasps. His voice and the slowing blinks of his eyes both betraying his sleep deprival. But he wants to listen to this.

“It’s iKON’s debut stage,” Hanbin affirms and Bobby can hear the pride in Hanbin’s memory. The recalled details and the world building he applies until Bobby too can see that dark stage and feel the lift move beneath his feet.

“I thought for certain I’d throw up from all the excitement and nerves,” he goes on with. “But then there we were in front of all these people.”

Hanbin takes a breath, struck by what Bobby is certain is awe.

“They’re beautiful,” Hanbin says like it could all still be a dream. “Our fans. Even after all this time, it still affects me.”

Bobby thinks back on his own performances where a few scream his name before the beat drops and the familiar faces that appear repeatedly even in the largest of crowds. But he is brought to wonder how different it must feel to be in front of thousands like Hanbin has. To see a true eddying sea of fan lights instead of just cell phones and camera flashes.

“And then,” Hanbin switches away from the first person to further envelope Bobby into the scene. “You realize that you’re seeing them before they can you. That you have this secret, and the anticipation of revealing it kills you for those few seconds.”

Hanbin looks down at their hands, “that’s kinda what I feel now. Not so much the nerves, but that moment of suspense right before everything is about to fall into place.”

Bobby savors that for a second longer because he isn’t quite sure if Hanbin knew of the implications his words had.  

That behind all the hard work and endurance put into getting this far, that maybe just a little bit of this could be fated.

“Oh. And Bobby,” Hanbin nudges him. “Labels or not. I’m not planning to hide just how much I like you. Even with a million cameras on us, I’d still want to hold your hand.”

Bobby feels his heart shoot up a little on that, “you’re such a romantic, Kim Hanbin.”

“As if you’re such a realist yourself, Kim Jiwon.”

“ _Even with a million cameras on us?_ ” Bobby repeats. “Hanbin be _serious_.”

“I am,” Hanbin tugs Bobby’s hand up to his lips. “You make me happy. How could I hide that?”

Bobby’s heart flips, “you are full of poetry tonight.”

Hanbin huffs, curling in on himself so his head lands on Bobby‘s shoulder. Their hands now cradled beneath Hanbin’s chin.

“You’re more pda prone than me.” Bobby confesses softly, knowing Hanbin’s tendencies for skinship to anything with a warm body in touching proximity of himself. But he also admires the point Hanbin is trying to make.

“I couldn’t pretend we were anything else,” Bobby whispers. “So no matter if it’s one or one fucking million, I’d want to hold your hand too.”

Hanbin turns to face him. Eyes glinting in the dark.

It wasn’t them planning to announce what outsiders could define them as. But rather allowing themselves all the subtleties of their feelings in public.

“You’re _very_ cruel Bobby,” Hanbin whispers. “Speaking of a future you haven’t decided on.”

It comes like a stab wound, sharp and fast.

Bobby turns to his side to make the angle of his ensnared arm more comfortable and to put him face to face with Hanbin.

“If I should say no it would be no fault of your own. We’d still be –”

“ _This_ I know,” Hanbin cuts him off. There’s an edge to his tone too that has Bobby pausing.

“I’m sorry,” Bobby confesses sincerely. He knows this wasn’t easy for either of them. The deciding and the waiting. “Hanbin,” he says. “There’s one more thing.” 

“What?”

“The comeback.” Bobby notions, “with or without me. Is that date already set?”

Hanbin’s breathing, despite their sudden tension, was showing signs of slowing. The both of them on the brink of sleep, but eyes staying locked on the other’s.

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Sooner than you think.”

“When?” He edges.

Hanbin recoils just slightly, “the release date is in three months, but the song needs to be finalized in two weeks from _today_.”

“Two weeks? _Hanbin_.” Bobby wanes, doing the math.

Their agreement laid out three weeks for him to train in YG and then allowed for a week to think it over. But following this, when Bobby counts the remaining days of this third week and then the following week, it only left **_days_ ** to finalize everything.

“It’s manageable,” Hanbin stresses.

Bobby sighs. He trusts Hanbin. He does.

“Okay,” he says.

“Okay?” Hanbin fails to hide the hope in it.

“ _Just_ okay,” Bobby clarifies.

Hanbin’s stare drops downward. He brings their hands up to his lips again, but there were no kisses this time. Just the wisps of Hanbin’s breath and another hand coming to hold Bobby’s a little tighter as if it might leave him.

“We should sleep,” Bobby offers.

Hanbin’s silence is a little too intense to be mistaken as resting and Bobby waits it out even when his eyes beg to stay closed.

“I miss your bed,” a murmur.

“Why?” Bobby’s barely audible himself, straining to keep some level of pronunciation to his words.

“Cause if I turn us over right now to get you on top of me we’ll be bumping into a wall.” A hesitant pause, “is that a silly reason?”

“No, but it is funny,” Bobby smiles, sleepy. “Cause I think I like your bed more.”

He thinks he can feel Hanbin’s grin against his hand.

“ _Come_.” Hanbin urges, bringing a hand to tug at his shoulder. “I like the weight of you.”

Bobby pushes him back, slipping his hand from the other’s and moving to comply.

He doesn’t even question it. If he could, Bobby would offer all the comforts he could to the boy. But the things Hanbin wants to hear are not the things that Bobby can say, _yet._

But he _can_ give Hanbin this.

And he likes the ways in which Hanbin uses his words. To know their double meanings and arrange them like a florist would with flowery bouquets.

To equally mean _you are no burden_ when he talks of weight. And to still bare himself even after being hurt.

There was no other leader Bobby would follow as closely. No other person Bobby that would want to be with.

Hanbin guides him as Bobby leverages his torso above him, slowly laying himself down atop Hanbin’s chest. His weight off centering as to not completely compress Hanbin while sleeping.

It results in him half cradling the latter and being partly cradled himself. His legs mix with Hanbin’s, his arms find themselves hooking around a waist and another stayed at his shoulder. And under his ear, close to Hanbin’s collar, Bobby can just make out the strong thudding beat of Hanbin’s heart.

He falls asleep to it as if it was the patter of rain or the sighing of the breeze.

He thinks he might miss this the most if he should leave.

 

* * *

* * *

 

  
  
~~**Bonus:** ~~   
  
Bobby dreams of red fireflies fleeting around him through a starless night sky.   
  
Curious little things that react to sound, swelling before him when he talks and swooning with dazzling patterned blinks to match the tempos of his raps.   
  
He gives them the range of his emotions. The excitement and battle cries. The trepidation and indecision.   
  
And when he gets to the matters afflicting his heart. The joy as well as the pain. They come in closer.   
  
Because that’s when he chooses to _sing_.

 

 

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this chapter was slow, but hopefully not boring. So I have a few exciting things to write coming up :> and forewarning that exciting for me and exciting for you are different things here lol
> 
> Many thanks to beta [Aby](http://shimco.tumblr.com/) for dealing with me rolling up in carpets of feels. Especially over the 'how can I hide it?' line. I TOO SOMETIMES SCREAM OVER THE FLUFF. Damn Bin you soft. And also special mention to Paloma who isn't an ikonic and yet reads this anyways haha. ♥
> 
> You know where to scream at me on [tumblr](http://coquettish-rap.tumblr.com/) or you can check out the rwm playlist that I occasionally update [ [x](http://coquettish-rap.tumblr.com/clap-for-me-baby) ]


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